


chaos in bloom

by vvelna



Series: happy phantoms [3]
Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Dreams and Nightmares, Fluff, Gender Identity, Ghosts, Horror, Mild to Moderate Injuries, Other, Paranormal, Self-Discovery, Spooky Happenings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-24
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-02 14:17:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 29
Words: 87,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21163025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vvelna/pseuds/vvelna
Summary: The adventures of Dan and Phyl, ghost removal experts.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hello!
> 
> if you haven't read the first two parts of this series yet, go do that first. it's required reading if you want this to make sense.
> 
> ok let's get spooky :O

Dan hasn’t seen Phyl in over a week. There are no new cases. She spends her time in her flat, catching up on her web design work. Writing code, changing fonts and colors and making graphics dance across pages—it all feels strangely artificial after almost a month of witnessing Phyl’s intuitive problem-solving. There are no surprises here. But it pays the bills and it keeps her mind occupied. The return to control grounds her. Perfection is immeasurable in the ghost hunting business. Here, Dan can sit at her desk until 3am and achieve any results she or her clients desire.

She shouldn’t call it ghost hunting. Phyl never uses that word. It’s_ relocation_. James and Michael call it _extraction_. The Happy Phantoms website calls it _removal_. Never hunting. Hunting implies killing. Of course, you can’t kill something that’s already dead, but Dan doesn’t think semantics is entirely the reason Phyl balks at the term.

They text. A lot. It doesn’t feel the same as talking to Phyl in the flesh. There’s something missing. Dan tries to hear each word on her phone screen in Phyl’s voice, to visualize the shape of her lips forming every syllable. She imagines the way her hands would move when she gets excited. Tries to translate emojis into actions.

It’s possible that Dan needs to majorly chill, if the briefest physical separation has her like this.

In between work and leisure, Dan obsesses over Beyond the Veil. It’s a forum for ghost hunters. (She can’t avoid the word. It’s fine; Phyl can’t read her mind.) Beyond the Veil is a closed forum. In order to view any part of it, you need to have an account and password. To get an account, you have to be invited by a member, so Phyl invited Dan. Phyl thinks the forum should be open to everyone, but it’s not her decision to make. She’s not even a moderator. Dan thought that was weird at first, because in her mind, Phyl is _the_ ghost expert. She has to get used to the idea that Phyl is just one of countless people all over the world doing this kind of work.

Beyond the Veil has hundreds of threads containing thousands of posts dating back to the early 2000s. Dan can’t possibly read everything, but she tries. She delves deep into old conversations, and keeps up with new ones, setting notifications on her phone to update her throughout the day. She doesn’t make any posts of her own, besides a perfunctory introduction post in the thread for new members, which she only made because Phyl pestered her about it. (“Maybe you’ll make some new friends!”) She lurks. She haunts.

She tracks down many of Phyl’s own posts. She feels a bit guilty about it, like she’s doing something she shouldn’t, by trying to learn more about Phyl before Phyl knew her. But Phyl welcomed Dan into this space. Her posts don’t harbor much in the way of secrets or revelations anyway. She mostly offers and solicits advice. She seems particularly interested in methods for easing the symptoms of a haunting—such as the suggestion of the bowl of hot water she gave Dan. She wants to help people. Help ghosts. It makes Dan’s heart soften for her even more. She’ll melt to goo if she’s not careful.

Nothing Dan reads gets her any closer to understanding her own power. If you can call the noise only she can hear a power. People talk about hearing ghosts the way Phyl does; they talk about sounds caused by hauntings. But no one describes the exact phenomenon Dan’s been enduring. It’s always the same—Phyl goes to the buggy, she opens her mouth to release the ghost, and Dan hears that ungodly sound. She almost starts a thread about it. But what if people only reply to tell her they have no idea what’s happening? Or don’t reply at all? Phyl said they’d figure it out. For now, she decides to trust that they’ll come up with some kind of plan together.

One night Dan reads something that troubles her. She drags herself away from her computer and curls up in bed, fingers stiff from typing, eyes sore from staring at a screen for hours. She pulls out her phone to torture them with a smaller screen. In all her hours of reading, she’s yet to find anyone talking about the method Phyl uses for capturing ghosts. Instead of anecdotes about absorbing and carrying them in their bodies, people discuss hands-off methods for coaxing ghosts into transport containers like the buggy. There are rituals. There are words and movements. The burning of certain materials will drive a ghost out of its hiding place. A certain tune will confuse one and allow it to be charmed like a snake. Once captured, ghosts can be transported in containers made from certain materials. Specific metals and alloys, animal skins, treated woods. But no one admits to using their own body for any part of the process. Not even Phyl, in any post that Dan unearths.

That night she finds one thread where people discuss it. Someone poses a question about whether it’s possible. The replies are all from people who’ve never done it, but many have heard of it. The consensus seems to be that purposefully absorbing a ghost is a rare and reckless practice. They advise against trying. One person writes: _That’s the kind of thing only someone stupid would do. It’s lazy and really belittles our profession IMHO. I guess some people would rather put themselves in danger than learn how to do it the right way._

Dan is angered by someone indirectly calling Phyl stupid and lazy, and almost replies to the comment. She calms down before she can gather the thoughts necessary to word a coherent response. The thread is two years old and the user hasn’t been active in eight months. There’s no point.

What she should really do is ask Phyl about it. But it’s 5am by then and she’s not about to text Phyl demanding an explanation. She puts her phone aside and closes her eyes.

Her dreams sway from pleasure to terror. Phyl’s hands are soft, resting on the skin of her hips. They’re sitting together somewhere—a bed? A soft orange light blurs all Phyl’s angles, her skin smooth and glowing. There’s a clock in the back of Dan’s brain, ticking louder and louder. _Can you hear that?_ she asks Phyl, brushing a strand of black hair off her forehead. It feels slick, as if with sweat. She pulls her hand away and her fingers are darkened by blood.

Phyl just smiles and leans in to kiss her. Dan can taste blood in her mouth. Even in the dream, the sharp metallic taste is unmistakable. She tries to pull back, but Phyl’s hands slide up her sides and her fingers dig in between her ribs. She twists her head away, breaking the seal of their lips and watching blood drip down Phyl’s chin. The volume of the ticking in her head rises painfully. There’s a pendulum swinging back and forth, cleaving a path through her brain, ricocheting off one wall of her skull and then back off the other. Phyl is clawing at her chest now, fingernails digging in. Blood flows out of her mouth in a waterfall.

Just below the sound of the clock, Dan can hear a faint voice. _Help me. Help me Help me Help me._

She wakes up gasping, sucking the fabric of her pillowcase into her mouth. She rolls from her stomach onto her back, and kicks at the sheets, trying to disentangle her legs. The room is no longer dark; the sun rose hours ago.

She gets out of bed and walks over to the full-length mirror by her wardrobe, pulling her shirt off over her head as she goes. She examines her body, half expecting to find bruises along her ribs, or scratch marks on her chest. It had all felt so real, but there’s nothing there. She opens her mouth and sticks out her tongue. No blood. She sighs and sinks to the floor, holding her throbbing head in her hands. She tries to remember what dream-Phyl’s hands felt like on her body before everything deteriorated, but that fantasy has been ruined for the time being.

Dan returns to bed just as a text comes through on her phone. It’s from her friend AJ.

_b there in 20 awake or not_

She has several other texts from AJ, sent throughout the morning. She checks the time and date. It’s past 1pm. Shit. She forgot she’d invited AJ over today. They haven’t seen each other in weeks, thanks to Dan running off to chase ghosts with Phyl. She had demanded a meeting. Dan hasn’t explained where she’s been. AJ is probably imagining she’s been lying depressed in bed, cocooned in sweaty sheets like cling film keeping her immobilized. She owes it to her friend to let her know she’s okay. More than okay, actually (despite last night’s dream).

She brushes her teeth and throws on clean clothes. She doesn’t care about impressing AJ with her appearance—after all, she’s seen Dan at her worst. But she wants her to know she’s alright.

The knock on the door comes much sooner than promised. AJ has a loose interpretation of twenty minutes. Dan knows it’s her because of the distinctive pattern. _Knock-knock-knock_ pause _knock-knock._

“You just woke up, right?” is the first thing AJ says when Dan opens the door.

“No.” She steps back to let her inside.

AJ’s attire consists of a loose, sleeveless striped shirt, baggy cargo shorts, and sandals with velcro straps which she bends over to begin undoing. She’s dressed like a dad on holiday, which is a typical look for her. Her short, straight black hair is a mess as usual, sticking up in all kinds of organic formations. On her upper arm, two faded temporary tattoos are beginning to peel. A shark and a princess. She must have been babysitting her nephews recently.

She makes herself at home, dropping her backpack on the floor and flopping onto the sofa. Dan joins her, sighing as she sinks into the cushions. She likes spending time with AJ, but right now her head still hurts and she hasn’t eaten since last night and would really rather be alone with the leftover pizza she’s just remembered is in the fridge.

AJ leans forward to unzip her backpack, rummaging around in it. Judging by the bulging sides and the great thump it made when she let it fall to the floor, there’s a lot to sift through.

“Let’s play a game. I brought Kirby Air Ride. I know you still have your GameCube stashed away somewhere.”

Dan rolls her eyes. Just last month AJ had been adamant that they should play the Nintendo 64 Mario Tennis, but that plan was thwarted because Dan didn’t own one.

“Can we play something from this century?”

“I don’t know why anyone bothered continuing to make video games after Kirby Air Ride. You can’t top perfection.” She pulls the somewhat dented plastic case out of her bag and pops it open, revealing the little disc. She holds the case open in her hands like a holy book, letting the overhead lighting illuminate its pages.

“Mario Kart. Let’s play Mario Kart.”

“No. I’m the guest; I choose the game.” They have no such rule, but she says it with complete confidence.

“Kirby Air Ride is just bad Mario Kart.” Dan knows she’s already lost this battle

“Don’t be a bitch,” says AJ. There’s no bite to her words. Her tone is light, almost affectionate.

Dan rises from the sofa with a huff, dragging her feet on her way to unearth the GameCube from some crypt of a hall closet.

AJ is one of the most easygoing people Dan knows. She won’t put up a fuss if Dan refuses to play the game. There will be no hard feelings. But that’s the very reason Dan gives in. She doesn’t want to be obstinate just on principle. There’s no real reason to argue.

So she sets up the console and reheats some pizza and they settle into the sofa together. As they play, thoughts buzz in the back of her mind—thoughts from a brain that refuses to let her enjoy a moment for what it is, without analyzing the nature of the moment in the context of her life.

The thoughts are concerned with the idea that this moment—this series of moments—is indistinguishable from something that may have occurred in her life pre-Phyl. She rolls a joystick under her thumb and lets her eyes wander over the split screen on the television, observing AJ’s point of view alongside her own.

Her life is a split screen right now. Phyl has become a significant part of it. She’s an upheaval. She and her ghosts have opened up doors in reality that can’t be closed. But now Dan’s back in her flat without her, living her life as before. She’s playing video games with AJ, who doesn’t even know Phyl exists. And it feels right and wrong in equal measure.

She falls into second place behind a computer, but quickly overtakes them. AJ is laughing beside her, and it brings her back down to earth as she flies over the finish line. She pushes Phyl off to the side in her mind. This isn’t about her.

They play on. AJ is terrible, but seems at peace with this. She doesn’t have a competitive bone in her body, and exhibits a complete lack of agitation despite being bested by Dan over and over. Her upbeat attitude wears away some of the shine of winning for Dan. Winning against someone who doesn’t give a shit, and probably couldn’t win even if they did care, isn’t as glamorous. Her only real competition is the computer players, and she’s fairly sure they don’t care much about the outcome of the races either. But she still has fun.

“Alright,” says AJ, after about the tenth race, “I’m worn out.”

“From all the hard work you’ve been doing?”

She nods, and looks to be about to speak again, when Dan’s phone pings on the arm of the sofa. Dan jumps a bit and grabs it. It’s a text from Phyl.

_Hey there_

She snorts. Eloquent.

Before she can reply or put the phone down, AJ slides across the sofa to peer over her shoulder.

“Who’s Phyl?”

“Oi, privacy!” Dan can feel the surface temperature of her face rising.

“Do my eyes deceive me or is that a heart emoji beside their name?”

Dan shifts further into the arm of the sofa, and pushes at AJ’s thigh with her foot.

“It’s nothing. She’s just a…” Dan’s mind goes blank for a moment and AJ begins to smirk. “A friend. She’s my friend.”

AJ nods, rubbing her chin, clearly struggling to lower the corners of her mouth into a neutral position.

“So how long have you been dating?”

“We’re not dating!” She lifts her leg and pushes her foot into AJ’s side until she moves back a bit.

AJ grabs her ankle to still her foot, and gives it a squeeze.

“Well, go ahead and ask her out already. You can come on double dates with me and Gwen.”

Dan hates how easily AJ can tell when she’s lying. The conversation has barely begun and she feels as if she’s already given too much away.

“Why are you assuming I would even want to date her? You don’t know anything about her.”

AJ lets go and moves to the other side of the sofa to give Dan space, but she doesn’t back down.

“That emoji doesn’t lie.”

Dan curses herself for adding the little heart next to Phyl’s contact name. She hadn’t put it there when she first saved Phyl’s number; it was a later addition. One night in the van she’d woken from a nightmare, the content of which she no longer recalls. James and Michael weren’t in the van, but Phyl was there, asleep beside her. She must have felt Dan jolt awake, breathing heavy, because she moved closer, and with her eyes still closed, clumsily patted her on the cheek.

“S’alright,” she mumbled, cold fingers gently pressing against flushed skin. Dan turned over to look at her, and Phyl’s hand slid from her face, curling back into a loose fist between them.

Something stirred inside Dan’s heart, something warm but almost painful. She wanted to reach out and cup Phyl’s face in return, make her wake up, and try to tell her about a feeling she hadn’t yet found the words for. But Phyl looked so peaceful, and Dan was starting to fall back asleep, so she just rolled over and found her phone. In lieu of saying anything to Phyl, she added the heart beside her name. When she woke up the next day, she couldn’t bring herself to remove it.

She can’t explain any of that to AJ right now.

“It doesn’t mean anything. It’s just, you know. Funny.”

She looks away, but she can sense AJ’s eyes on her.

“Uh huh. Haha. Hilarious. What emoji do you have for me?”

“None. Shut up.”

AJ laughs and Dan frowns, curling farther away and into herself. Usually this kind of teasing wouldn’t bother her. But everything about this situation with Phyl is different. There’s something raw and tender about it.

AJ stops laughing. “Hey. What’s really going on?”

“Nothing. I like her. I just can’t date her because…”

“Because what? Talk to me.”

Dan sighs and uncurls a bit, turning to face AJ. The earnestness in her expression almost makes her want to look away again. Dan’s being silly and making her friend worry. It’s embarrassing.

She needs to lighten up this conversation. She’s not ready for a full-on heart to heart. She can’t do that right now. So she forces herself to sit up straighter, and grimaces, holding a hand out so she can count on her fingers.

“Well, firstly, we work together, which is always going to be an issue—”

“Wait,” AJ interrupts. “Since when? Did you get a new job?”

Dan falters. There’s too many layers to this. AJ doesn’t even know about the haunting.

“Kind of. A second job. I’ll explain later.”

AJ cocks an eyebrow. Dan knows it means she’s going to hold her to that.

“Alright. What else have you got?”

Dan is suddenly having trouble remembering what her other reasons are, besides a vague, cynical feeling that some things are too good to be true and some opportunities are better left unpursued.

“I don’t know if she likes me the same way,” is the next thing that comes out of her mouth. It sounds like a feeble excuse even to her ears.

“Sometimes going on a few dates is a good way to figure that out.”

“I know that.”

AJ’s eyebrows rise comically. “Unless she’s, you know.” She lowers her voice to a whisper. “_Straight_.”

Dan smacks her knee. “No! She’s a lesbian.”

“Does she know you like women too?”

The question catches Dan off guard. Of course Phyl knows. How could she not? Isn’t it obvious? And if she knows but hasn’t done anything about it, then it means she doesn’t reciprocate Dan’s feelings, despite their compatible sexualities. Obviously. Right?

“Yeah…I think so.”

“Sure.”

“I didn’t _tell_ her, like, outright. But I definitely haven’t said otherwise.”

“Okay.”

Those one word responses get under Dan’s skin, because AJ could easily say more. But she doesn’t, because they both know her skeptical tone of voice and expression is clear enough without further explanation.

“Alright, fine. I don’t have lots of good, rational excuses. I’m just afraid of rejection. Are you happy now?”

She’s afraid of awkwardness and shifts in behavior. She’s afraid of trying to make a good thing better, but ending up making it worse.

She’s also afraid of ghosts and things you can’t unknow and an ability she doesn’t understand, and right now Phyl is the only person making living with those fears easier.

“Nope,” says AJ. “Not happy. You still owe me an explanation about this new job.”

Dan hesitates, but maybe talking to AJ about this ghost business will help. So far she hasn’t spoken directly about it with anyone outside of the Happy Phantoms team. It almost feels taboo to talk about it with an outsider, but why? She can tell AJ. Her temperament is perfectly suited to accepting this type of information. Even if she thinks Dan is full of shit or losing her mind, she’ll take it in stride.

Relief floods Dan’s brain before she even begins. This is what she needs—to confess, to confide—so that she won’t have to sit alone with everything when she’s not with Phyl.

There’s still the matter of where to begin.

“What would you say if I told you I’d been haunted?”

AJ is quiet. She’s probably trying to figure out if Dan’s being serious or not. Or just processing a statement she couldn’t have been prepared for. But then her tight expression eases and she smiles.

“I’d say, ‘Who are you and what have you done with Dan?”

“Ok, this is going to sound crazy, but just listen.”

Dan launches into a heavily abridged version of the events which led her to Phyl, and then fueled an ever-growing crush.

AJ listens attentively, nodding along but never speaking. It’s a little off-putting, because Dan is so used to her interrupting stories with questions and jokes. She’s embarrassed, because she’s sure the whole thing sounds ridiculous, but she keeps going. The awkward pauses and spaces between words shrink as she goes and it’s good to get it out, like she’s physically expelling a secret from her body.

“And that’s it, I guess,” she finishes.

“Uh huh.” AJ looks down and away and Dan’s relief starts to slowly evaporate. Shit. She just let that whole mess out and AJ must think she’s lying or crazy or telling a long, unfunny joke, and she isn’t happy about it.

“I believe you.” She looks back up at Dan. Her eyes are soft and her gaze open, her features relaxed. She’s not lying to placate Dan.

“Seriously?” Dan lets the three unexpected words sink into her, drawing the relief back down.

“Yeah. The sleeping chastely next to a hot girl for a month seems a bit dubious, but you know I’ve always been open to the possibility of the existence of ghosts.”

“Well, I haven’t.” In fact, Dan’s still not quite sure she fully believes in them. Maybe skepticism is just wired into her on some molecular level, and she’ll forever continue to struggle with the concept.

“Exactly. That’s how I know you’re not making it up.”

“What does that even mean?”

“Wait till I tell Gwen about this. She’ll be so excited she might die. Maybe I shouldn’t tell her then. Can I tell her?”

“It’s fine. You’re going to tell her no matter what.” Dan tries to release some of the tension from her body, clenching and then relaxing her muscles.

AJ’s girlfriend Gwen studies cultural anthropology and her research focuses heavily on folklore, oral traditions, and storytelling as a backbone of belief…or something like that. Dan has listened to Gwen talk about her studies and pretended to understand a lot more than she does.

“I wouldn’t tell her if you asked me not to!” says AJ, laying a hand on her chest. Dan rolls her eyes. “Jane Club, remember. I took a sacred vow.”

Dan smiles and bites her lip to keep from laughing. “Jane Club” is AJ’s way of referring to the deep and meaningful connection created between them by their shared middle name. Danielle Jane Howell and Anna Jane Truong. It’s one-hundred percent bullshit just to make Dan smile. And it works nearly every time.

“Fine. But you can tell her. I want you to tell her.”

“Great. Moving along…”

“What now? I don’t have anything left to tell. I’m empty, AJ. My truth tank is empty.”

“You humored me, so I’ll humor you. We can play any game you want—”

“Oh, I’m gonna make you sorry you said that.”

“But you have to do one last favor for me first.”

Dan sighs and rubs a hand across her face. “God. What?”

“You have to ask Phyl out.”

“I cannot _believe_ you’re making demands like this, doing this to me in my own home, and after I bared my soul to you—”

“Listen. I heard you and you have to do it. You like her. She likes you. She’s the Velma to your Daphne.”

“I don’t think that was canon.”

“You care too much about canon. Time to write your own story, mate.”

“Please shut up. I’m begging you,” Dan says, but she reaches for her phone anyway.

A lot of her anxiety has been rinsed away. Maybe she just needed AJ’s second opinion and reassurance, or just to share the weight of her new reality with someone else before she could take the next step. What’s the big deal?

Before she can open up her messages to reply, another text from Phyl comes through. It startles her and she gasps. She might still be a little tense about this after all.

“What? Is it her?”

_I was wondering would you like to go somewhere with me this weekend? No ghosts. Just us :P_

“Shit. Yeah. I think she just asked me out?”

“Let me see!”

Dan passes AJ the phone. She reads the text, laughs, and slaps her on the back.

“Oh, you really got out of that one.”

“What should I reply?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Just ‘yes’? You think I should just type ‘yes’?”

“Sure, why not. Yes. Yeah. Absolutely. Fuck yeah. Okay, and will you marry me? Whatever. It’s all the same.”

Dan shakes her head and sends a _yes!_

Phyl’s reply comes through in a matter of seconds.

_Yaaay! ^_^ do you like sushi?_

They make plans to meet up that weekend and check out a new restaurant. Maybe see a movie in the evening or, in Phyl’s words, just _see what happens!_ (Dan tries not to read too much into that.)

AJ waits patiently while they text, inexplicably humming a medley of songs from The Lion King.

“Alright, I did it.”

“You did it.” She smiles serenely. “I’m proud of you.”

Dan is giddy with excitement, but doubts start to surface. What if it’s not actually a date? Neither of them used that word. Dan could have misread between the lines.

“Okay, go pick a game. Anything. I’m ready to destroy you,” says AJ, in the flat tone of someone who knows they won’t be doing any destroying, and couldn’t care less.

So maybe it’s a date or maybe it’s not. But it’s something. The plans are made, and it will be a novel experience. No ghosts. Just Dan and Phyl. She can hardly wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading!
> 
> there is no upload schedule for this fic, but i am excited and determined to keep writing it! kudos and comments nourish my soul.
> 
> [ reblog on tumblr ](https://velvetnautilus.tumblr.com/private/188568158490/tumblr_chf7QreRiqPdMTimz)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i just want to say thank you to everyone who left such lovely comments on the first chapter. your enthusiasm is so encouraging and it makes me happy that other people care about this story :)
> 
> just a word of warning: this chapter contains some body horror, and i've updated the tags on this fic from "a bit of horror" to "Horror" accordingly
> 
> ok on with the fic~

The night before their date, Phyl texts Dan to tell her she’s sick and can’t go. Dan’s heart sinks as she sits on her bed beside the two all black outfits she was debating between wearing. She knows Phyl well enough by now to have full faith that she’s not making excuses. Phyl wouldn’t lie and cancel their plans like that, and her trust in Phyl helps suppress some of the self-doubt that manages to worm its way into the reasonable parts of her brain. But she’s still disappointed because she was really looking forward to this. And then she feels guilty that her primary reaction is to be upset that she’s not getting what she wants, instead of being concerned about Phyl.

Dan texts her back, telling her that it’s fine and asking how she’s doing. Phyl assures her that everything’s cool, she’s just _a little poorly_ but not anywhere near the brink of death.

She still doesn’t know if it was supposed to be a date. That’s the energy she was planning on bringing to it, but if Phyl was on a different wavelength she’d enjoy the outing for what it was. It doesn’t really matter now.

Phyl doesn’t say anything about when they might be able to make up for their missed meeting, and Dan doesn’t press. She doesn’t want to come across as needy. They’ll see each other when they see other. 

So the weekend passes, and Dan continues to suffer from the effects of Phyl withdrawal. She spends an embarrassing amount of time thinking about her, dreaming about her, and rereading their texts. If you googled the word _smitten_, you’d find a picture of Dan sprawled across her bed with her phone in her hand, laughing at some joke Phyl texted her weeks ago that wasn’t even that funny the first time. 

On Monday afternoon she finally has Phyl off her mind as she struggles to interpret the nonsensical instructions a client has given her. How can a website for a real estate agency be “kooky but professional”? What does that even mean? With another client she’s ten emails deep into explaining that she can’t use the stock images they want her to without paying for them, and just photoshopping out the watermarks isn’t an option. Dealing with people is her least favorite part of the job. At least she doesn’t have to do it face to face.

Her phone pings and she ignores it. She’s been getting texts and notifications off and on all day, and most of them have been nothing worth responding to immediately. Twenty minutes go by before she actually checks her phone and sees that Phyl’s texted her.

Shit. She hurries to open it.

_Got a job tonight! If ur interested_

Dan rolls her eyes at Phyl’s wording. Of course she’s interested. Phyl probably meant to ask if she was available. She has a few deadlines drawing near, but nothing so pressing that she can’t take time off to work her other job.

The case is right in London, and she makes plans to meet up with Phyl and the guys outside the apartment complex at 9pm. It’s a short ride on the tube with her backpack on her lap, and then she’s walking up the front steps and into the lobby of the building.

The flat of the woman who’s hired them is on the ground floor. Dan turns round a corner and sees Phyl down the hall, chatting with a woman who must be their client.

The woman is pretty and she’s laughing, listening to Phyl talk.

“Don’t be jealous, stupid,” Dan mutters to herself while she’s still out of earshot. 

She approaches them as casually as possible, sort of slowly sauntering up, instead of running down the hall and hugging Phyl tight enough to lift her feet off the ground and spin her around in circles. 

The woman stops looking at Phyl when she sees Dan approach, and then Phyl turns around and her whole face lights up. 

“Dan! You’re here!”

“Hi,” she says, somewhat bashful now. Up close the woman standing with Phyl looks like she hasn’t slept in weeks. Her eyes are bloodshot and her skin is red like she’s been crying enough to irritate it. She’s trembling ever so slightly, and when she reaches out to shake Dan’s hand, Dan can see that she’s bitten her nails so short that bloody crescents rim each fingertip. 

“Darla,” she says, putting on a tight smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you…”

“Same,” says Dan, instantly kicking herself for not responding like a normal human being.

“This is Dan,” says Phyl, resting a hand on Dan’s arm for the briefest moment. “My second in command.”

Dan raises an eyebrow. Phyl’s never referred to her like that, and she must be joking, but she wonders what James and Michael would have to say about it.

“Where are Michael and James?” she asks.

“They’re already inside setting up all their gadgets. Shall we join them?”

Darla turns to walk inside first, with Phyl behind her. Phyl rests a hand on her back and Dan’s stomach flips when Darla seems to lean slightly into her. 

She recovers herself when they’re all inside, and Phyl and Darla move apart. Phyl stays close to Dan, while Darla makes her way over to a chair and sinks into it with a shaky sigh.

They’re surrounded by cameras, cords and contraptions. Michael waves at Dan and James grunts hello without looking up from the radio antennae he’s adjusting on a mysterious box with buttons and dials.

“It’s in the kitchen,” says Phyl.

Darla lets her head rest in her hands and nods. “That’s where it gets me the most. I can’t even go in there anymore. It’s too—” she chokes on a sob and doesn’t finish the sentence.

Phyl crosses the room and kneels by the side of the chair. “It’s okay. I promise we’re going to help you.”

Darla looks up and nods, wiping a hand across her face. “I know, I know. I’m just so tired of feeling like this.”

Dan makes her way toward them. She doesn’t feel jealous anymore. Darla is just tired and scared and Phyl is comforting her. Phyl’s voice is deep and warm, and even though she’s directing it at Darla, Dan is also soothed. 

The kitchen is right around the corner from the cozy little room they’re all sitting in. Dan passes by Phyl and Darla and peeks in.

She regrets it. There’s nothing in there. It’s just a nice clean kitchen, that looks like it hasn’t been used recently. In the center of the room there’s an island topped with a big, white, marble slab. The sight of it makes Dan’s gut squirm. She blinks and for a split second she’s sure she sees something. Something terrible. But there’s nothing there. Her eyes dart around the room from one tidy corner to the next, always drawn back to the white slab in the middle. It’s all pristine. There’s nothing there. 

“You can feel it, right?” Phyl says from behind her.

Dan jumps and turns around to smack her lightly on the shoulder. “Jesus. Why’re you sneaking up on me?”

“I’m not sneaking.”

Dan looks around Phyl and over at the chair where Darla’s still sitting. She keeps her face and her body turned away from the kitchen.

Dan leans close to Phyl so she can whisper in her ear. 

“I feel it, but why? What is it?”

“I’m not sure…I’ve felt things like this before, but no two hauntings are exactly alike.”

“Do you hear anything?”

Phyl closes her eyes and rubs her temples. “Yeah,” she says, quiet but no longer whispering. “I think. Maybe?”

“Are you going to start soon?” Darla calls to them.

They both turn to her. She isn’t looking at them. The kitchen would be in her line of sight if she was.

“Yes, we’ll begin if that’s alright. You said you had some place to go for the night?”

“I do. I’ll just get my things then…”

Darla rises from the chair and drifts out of the room. The four of them watch her go. 

“Are we sure she’s safe to travel alone?” James asks. “She looks like she might wander into traffic without even realizing where she is. 

“I think she’ll be alright,” says Phyl. “She told me that the farther she gets from here, the better she feels. She makes it to and from work every day just fine.”

Michael switches out the lens on a camera, frowning in concentration as he screws it delicately into place. “Why does she come back here then? Why return to a place that makes you feel like…_this_.”

“This is her home.”

Darla reappears with a small suitcase in hand. She smiles weakly.

“Okay. I’m off.”

They all say polite goodbyes and Phyl opens the front door for her. 

“You’ll let me know as soon as it’s gone?”

Phyl nods. “The very second.”

  
There’s no door between the lounge and the kitchen, so they hang a blanket in the entryway and park the buggy right outside. James and Michael, of course, are also right there. Dan asked Phyl once why they never set up in the rooms where the ghost activity was strongest. Apparently Phyl won’t let them. Their equipment might disturb the ghosts.

They lay out their sleeping bags to sit on. Dan takes out a pair of noise cancelling headphones and lets them rest around her neck. She doubts they’ll block out the screeching completely, but they might help.

The kitchen is less unnerving once it’s illuminated only by their red bulb. Dan would have thought the darkness would increase the sense of being in the presence of some horrific thing. A thing you wouldn’t survive truly looking at. But it’s just another room. She looks deep into the shadows in the corners, and knows there’s nothing there to see. It’s just her and Phyl, sitting across from each other to the left of the island.

“Do you hear it?” she asks Phyl.

Phyl closes her eyes and leans back on her hands. “Yes, it’s sort of like a low humming. Not very tuneful. Would not sign this ghost to my record label.”

“Right. And how are you feeling?”

She wiggles her nose. “Fine, honestly. Might sneeze.”

Sneezing, coughing, or running a low fever are the most common effects Phyl experiences. That puts Dan at ease. Whatever they’re dealing with here, it must not be too out of the ordinary. 

She tries not to think about the way Darla shook and angled her body away from the kitchen, or the dread that bubbled up inside of her when her gaze fell on that white marble slab.

Neither of them are in a chatty mood. Phyl keeps her eyes closed and breathes deeply. Dan watches her face for a bit, trying to read something in her expression, but it’s blank. In the other room, she can hear the men murmuring, and the intermittent beeping and whirring of various machines and devices.

Time slows and thickens. Dan lets her mind drift, her thoughts landing briefly now and then but never resting for long. Ghost hunting is like this sometimes. It’s not always jokes and games or more serious discussion. Sometimes it’s just waiting quietly for Phyl to know the time is right.

Dan has no idea she’s fallen asleep until Phyl is gently shaking her arm.

“Dan,” she whispers, “Wake up. I don’t think it’s working.”

She sits up. She doesn’t remember lying down. She rubs the back of her neck and cracks her shoulder.

“What’s working?”

“No, I said it _isn’t_ working.”

“Okay, but _what?_”

“I can barely feel the ghost or hear it anymore. I think we need to turn the lights on.”

“Why?”

They never turn the lights on. It’s always just the red bulb and the shadows beyond its small circle of light. In any other circumstances, Dan would welcome the change. If the darkness often serves to amplify her fear of the supernatural, then surely a well-lit room would ease it. But not here. Not in this room. Not if it means seeing that _thing_ she knows is waiting.

“The ghost wants us to see it, and we can’t if it’s too dark. Well, not really see it; ghosts are invisible. It’s more like the illusion of being seen, I guess.”

Dan knows she almost saw something when she first looked into the kitchen. A fleeting flash of an image. Recognition of a presence. Something with a body. With meat. Something misshapen, twisting grotesquely up on the slab. Something wet and glistening…Or maybe all she saw was the warmth of the light bleeding through the thin skin of her closed eyelids. Or dozens of memories of horror movie gore, shock site images, raw meat thawing on a kitchen counter, things dying and being born—all layered over one another. Maybe she didn’t see anything at all. But if they turn the lights on, she will.

“Nope. No thanks. I’m just gonna sit here, close my eyes, and surrender to the night.”

“I don’t want to do it either, but we can’t just sit here forever.”

“I can.” 

Phyl gets up and looks around. “I don’t remember where the lightswitch is.”

“Aw, dammit. Guess we’ll have to stay in the dark then.”

Phyl frowns at Dan and walks past her, squinting. “Oh, there it is. Right on the wall where I left it. Brace yourself.”

Dan doesn’t close her eyes until the sudden brightness forces her to, and then she’s afraid to open them. Her pulse starts racing and she can’t move. It’s above her, hanging over the edge of the island. If she doesn’t look, it won’t touch her.

“Dan? I’m coming over, okay? I’m coming to you.”

She swallows a mouthful of saliva and moves just enough to dig her fingernails into the palms of her hands. There’s a hair’s width between her face and the thing. She can feel its heat.

“I’m almost there. Can you open your eyes for me?”

Words won’t come and she almost shakes her head before remembering that she’d touch the thing if she did. That near miss has her eyes flying open. She throws herself to the side, away from the island. Against her better judgement, she looks up. There’s nothing there.

Phyl crawls toward her on hands and knees. She moves slowly, lifting her hands like they’re lead weights and shifting her knees forward like she’s pushing through snow.

“Did it touch you?” she whispers.

Dan keeps her eyes on Phyl’s face. “No...I think it almost…but no. Did it—?”

Phyl shakes her head. She’s close enough to Dan now to reach out and lay a hand over the top of her foot. She visibly relaxes and lets her limbs go limp, falling onto her side.

“I saw it. On the island. I wanted to run but I couldn’t leave you in here. And I promised Darla…”

Dan lays her hand over Phyl’s, which is still gripping her foot. “What the hell is it? A ghost?”

“No. Yes? That thing can’t be the ghost. It’s not even real. It’s just…a trick.”

She doesn’t sound certain and Dan’s not convinced. If it’s not real, why did Phyl ask if it touched her?

Phyl sits up and slides her hand out from under Dan’s. It’s shaking. 

“I know what I have to do, but I don’t want to.” She tries to laugh but it comes out all wobbly. “Maybe we should just run away.”

“Great plan. Let’s go.”

Phyl stands suddenly, springing up in one motion. For a second Dan thinks she really is going to run, and she stands up too, head spinning. She reaches out for the island to steady herself, but right before her palm makes contact she draws it back and Phyl has to grab her by the arms so she doesn’t fall. 

Phyl lets go and starts to hoist herself up onto the island. Pure terror hijacks Dan’s brain and she grabs her roughly around the waist, pulling her away. Phyl’s hands slip on the marble, unable to hold on to its slick surface

Phyl squirms, trying to break out of Dan’s hold. “Let go!”

Dan can’t let Phyl get up on that slab. The thing is up there, and if she joins it, something terrible will happen. Something unspeakable that Dan can’t explain but understands on a primal level.

Phyl thrusts an elbow back into Dan’s arm and breaks free. She jumps up on the island. Dan grabs her leg and an image flashes before her eyes. Phyl is covered in blood. She looks over her shoulder at Dan and her face is a dark hole—a gaping, featureless wound. Arms with too many elbows sprout out from her back all along her spine, each one flexing its fingers and straining upward toward something just out of reach.

Dan screams and lets go, and it’s just Phyl kneeling on the slab, head thrown back, face bathed in soft white light. She lifts her hands up and opens her mouth. 

It’s like Dan’s been awoken from a trance. She springs into action, running to the entryway and ripping the blanket down, revealing the buggy. She pops her headphones over her ears and steps aside to let Phyl pass her. When Phyl drops to her knees in front of the buggy, Dan closes her eyes and presses the headphones tight to her ears.

Like she assumed, they don’t drown out the noise entirely, but they do muffle it down to a less painful pitch. With its intensity dulled, Dan is able to open her eyes and actually watch Phyl. Her body convulses as she expels the ghost. It looks unnatural and unpleasant. It’s nothing like what she saw hunched on the island, but it’s still not easy to look at.

But then it’s all over and Phyl turns to smile at her. Dan tries to smile back as she takes off her headphones. 

Michael pokes his head into the kitchen, leaning over the buggy.

“What happened?” he asks, voice raspy from sleep. “I thought I heard someone scream.”

“You’re a little late to the rescue,” says Dan, trying not to let on how shaken she is, “but don’t worry, we handled it.”

James sleeps like the dead and hasn’t woken up at all. Phyl looks as exhausted as Dan feels, her face slack and her eyes barely open.

“I’m going back to sleep,” says Michael.

Dan moves the buggy aside and puts an arm around Phyl’s shoulders, pushing her out of the kitchen and down the hall to Darla’s bedroom, which she said they were welcome to use. She guides her to the bed and she lands face first with a deep, weary sigh.

Dan flops down beside her, lying on her back and looking up at the ceiling. She waits for some afterimage to appear up there, but there’s nothing but whiteness washed gray by the weak light coming down the hall from the kitchen. She closes her eyes and there’s just darkness. Her heart rate eases back down.

She can’t remember what she saw in the kitchen, or if she saw anything at all. She just knows she was afraid. But why? She remembers the emotion but not the cause of it. And the emotion itself is fading. The way it all just dissipates rapidly might be cause for concern, but soon enough she finds she can’t be bothered to care.

Phyl makes a strange snuffling sound beside her and shifts onto her side. She mumbles something that sounds like “Olive green.”

Dan tries not to laugh. “Could you repeat that for the record, ma’am?”

“Am not,” Phyl says irritably. Then her features soften and she slips fully into sleep. Dan watches her face until she can’t keep her eyes open, just to make sure it doesn’t change. Though she’s not sure what it could possibly change into.

  
When they wake up, Phyl freaks out about forgetting to text Darla the night before, as soon as the ghost was captured. 

“Why does it matter? She wasn’t going to rush home in the middle of the night, now was she?”

Darla does rush home once Phyl texts her, coming in the door just as James and Michael are finishing loading up the Mystery Machine.

Dan is standing with Phyl in the kitchen, leaning against the island. Darla pauses in the entryway, then takes a deep breath and runs into the kitchen, straight toward Phyl. She throws her arms around her.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

Dan looks away, which is why she doesn’t see Darla let go of Phyl and turn to her.

Darla wraps her arms around Dan. Her embrace is surprisingly tight for such a delicate person.

“Thank you, Dan. Thank you so much.”

She hugs James and Michael too, even though they didn’t do anything. Dan keeps her mouth shut about that. Then again, did Dan really do anything either? What happened? Dan should ask Phyl later if ghosts can cause amnesia. If she remembers to.

Soon enough they’re all settled into the van, and James is merging into the busy London traffic. Dan looks out the back window and watches the door to Darla’s building shrink.

Phyl taps her on the knee.

“Are you free tomorrow?”

Dan smiles. “I have some work I need to get done, but I can probably fit something into my schedule.”

“Fantastic. I’m taking you out for ice cream.”

“As in…a date?” Dan needs to be certain.

Phyl blushes but doesn’t look away. “As in a date.”

Dan wants to jump up and pump her fist in the air, but she keeps her cool. She can’t remember the last time she was this excited to have anyone ask her out.

“Good. You’d better not get sick this time.”

“I won’t.”

She says it so firmly, as if she’ll personally go to battle with any illness that tries to get in the way of their date again. 

They drive on. London is loud outside the van and Michael and James are arguing over something to do with thermal imaging. Dan pulls out her phone and sends a quick text to AJ.

_the date is back on and it’s a date date!_

She replies five minutes later.

_congrats i call dibs on maid of honour_  
_but im wearing a suit_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! i promise they'll go on that date next time...
> 
> [ reblog on tumblr ](velvetnautilus.tumblr.com/post/189017038320/chaos-in-bloom-series-happy-phantoms-chapter-2)


	3. Chapter 3

Dan stares down at two rows of brightly colored rectangles. There are fourteen different flavors of ice cream, and the choice is a little overwhelming.

She can tell which flavors are the most popular based on how full the tubs are. Double Chocolate Caramel Fudge is scraped nearly to the bottom, while Pecan Licorice Swirl is as smooth and pristine as untouched snow. She almost wants to order that one just to be contrary, but it doesn’t sound like the most appealing flavor duo. 

Phyl stands beside her, bending over with the tip of her nose mere centimeters from the plastic sneeze guard. Dan’s not sure why she has to look so closely. The labels are printed in a large clear font (Arial Bold, she’s pretty sure) in front of each tub. They’re easily readable from a normal standing position.

“What are you doing? Checking for impurities?”

Phyl shakes her head and straightens up, moving over toward the register to order. Dan hurriedly makes her decision and follows.

“Can I have a scoop of Buttercream Birthday Cake and a scoop of Cinnamon Fudge, please?” Phyl asks, her voice higher than it is when she’s just talking to Dan. 

“Cone?”

“Yes, please.”

Phyl and the woman behind the counter turn to Dan next. Her mind goes blank for a second.

“Um. Can I have Black and Blue Raspberry Fusion?”

“How many scoops?”

“Uh, two.”

“Would you like a cone?”

“Yeah. Thank you.”

Phyl pays and the woman steps away to make their order. Dan wants to protest and pay for her own ice cream, but she decides to wait till later and not start a tiff at the counter.

They get their ice cream and Dan snatches a handful of napkins before following Phyl over to two stools in front of a counter against the window. Sitting there, they can watch people and cars going by outside.

The stools are fixed to the floor, and there isn’t a lot of space between them and the counter, and Dan and Phyl are not particularly petite people. Dan sits first and then Phyl wordlessly hands over her ice cream cone so she won’t drop it as she awkwardly maneuvers around the stool. When they’re both seated, Dan hands her back her ice cream. There is a lot of space under the counter at least, where they can both stretch out their long legs.

“You only picked that flavor because it’s black,” says Phyl, eyeing Dan’s cone before taking a big lick off the side of both her scoops of ice cream. 

Dan can’t imagine that those two flavors taste good together. It’s the kind of incongruous combination a child might devise. Like picking Chocolate and Bubblegum Blast, or Cherry Cola and Cotton Candy—flavors that all have appeal, but have no business being combined. Then again, the shop itself is selling pecan ice cream mixed with licorice, so in a way they were encouraging that kind of behavior.

“Actually, I chose this flavor because it best suits my sophisticated palate.”

“Nothing quite so sophisticated as Blue Raspberry.”

“It’s black raspberry _and_ blue raspberry.” She takes her first lick. It’s sweet but slightly tart. It reminds her more of a blueberry than anything, but one with maximum flavor concentration. “And it’s delicious.”

“It matches your outfit.” Phyl tugs on the black sleeve of her jacket, and then pokes her black denim-clad thigh. 

“Never compromise the aesthetic.”

They eat their ice cream in peace, separated by glass from the blur and bustle outside. A family with several small children enters the shop, bringing with them a great deal of noise, but Dan tunes them out, focusing on the view, the taste of her ice cream, and the way Phyl tucks a shiny black strand of hair behind her ear, revealing a rosy blush on her pale cheeks when Dan tells an especially good joke.

When ice cream begins to drip down the sides of her cone and onto the napkins on the counter, Dan sees that it isn’t actually black, but a deep purple. 

When they’ve finished every last bite of their cones and wiped their sticky fingers on crumpled napkins, Phyl turns to Dan and says shyly, “There’s a little carnival of sorts over at Hyde Park. I think it’s the last night. We could go, if you want.”

The only carnival Dan’s heard of at Hyde Park is Winter Wonderland, but it’s much too early for that. This must be a smaller event. It doesn’t really matter what it is, as long as she’s with Phyl.

“Yeah, I’d love that. Let’s go.”

The smile on Phyl’s face as they get out of their seats nearly triggers an instinct to dip and kiss her right there in the ice cream shop, but Dan controls herself.

Dusk is rolling in as they make their way down the street. They’re close enough to the park to not have to take the tube. Dan is walking with her hands in the pockets of her jacket, when Phyl suddenly wiggles her arm through the gap between Dan’s side and arm, linking their arms together.

“Autumn’s almost here,” she says, pretending to shiver.

“Shouldn’t have had all that ice cream then, if you’re so cold.”

“By the way, there’s a ghost in the ice cream shop.”

Dan nearly comes to a complete stop, but keeps moving because Phyl pulls her along.

“Wait. Are you serious?”

“Quite a lively one as well. It does its best to harmonize with whatever music they’ve got playing.”

Dan rolls that idea around in her mind. Of course, it makes sense that there would be ghosts in places other than the ones they’re called to, but it just strikes her as odd that Phyl didn’t mention it while they were there—to her or anyone else.

“But you just…left it there?”

“I’ve been going to that shop for over a year and it’s been there since the first time. It seems happy, and if it’s not causing anyone any trouble, there’s no reason to disturb it.”

That sounds reasonable, but now Dan’s mind is spinning, thinking of all the places ghosts may have been throughout her life, without her having any idea. If a place could be haunted without feeling so, then there could be ghosts anywhere.

“Besides, I’m not going to march up to the counter and tell them they have a ghost and need to pay me to take care of it. I let the people come to me.”

“So you’ve never helped out with a ghost you haven’t been hired to hu—remove?”

“No.”

Dan knows, from her countless hours scouring Beyond the Veil, that there are ghost hunters who don’t charge for their services. And among those people there are some who think it’s unethical to do so. Either because it’s taking advantage of people in need, or because it sullies their “gift.” Dan doesn’t think there’s anything wrong with Phyl getting paid, and most of the users on the forum seem to agree, but it is interesting to think about. Phyl hasn’t posted in any threads hosting such discussions.

“So basically, you’re saying a ghost was third-wheeling us that whole time.”

  
The top of a ferris wheel comes into view as they get closer to the park. It’s certainly no London Eye, but it still towers above the tops of the trees. Dan’s never actually been on the Eye anyway, even though she’s lived in London for two years now. The sky continues to darken, and rainbow lights running along the spokes and perimeter of the wheel shine brighter as they approach.

It really is a small operation. There are only three rides—the ferris wheel, a carousel, and a kid-sized rollercoaster. The rest is food trucks and tables under tarps where people are selling both handmade crafts and cheap novelty items. Some of the vendor spaces are already empty; it won’t be here for much longer.

“I want to ride the big wheel,” says Phyl. She unlinks their arms and points at it, as if Dan might not have spotted it yet.

It’s the farthest attraction from where they’re standing. To get there they’ll have to walk through not just a crowd of people, but through a sea of tantalizing aromas. Dan can smell oil and salt and sugar, and her mouth waters. 

“Okay, but we need to get food after.”

“Of course.”

They start meandering in the direction of the wheel, stopping every so often to peek at some of the wares for sale. Dan does her best to ignore all the food for now. Phyl seems especially enamored with a table of little clay animal figurines, picking up several and cooing over their hand-painted designs and wonky eyes. Dan decides she’ll have to find a way to separate herself from Phyl later, just long enough to secretly buy her one. The man at the table is eyeing them with a look Dan interprets to mean “buy something or stop touching everything,” so she starts walking away, beckoning Phyl to follow. 

As they make their way around groups of people milling about, waiting in lines for food, and crowding tables, Dan notices Phyl start to drift. She’s busy looking around at all the lights, not paying attention to where she’s walking. Dan can tell that her brain is checking out of the situation and leaving her body to fend for itself. Dan walks up close to her—as close as she can without bumping hips or shoulders—and slides her hand across Phyl’s back to rest it on her waist. She gently tugs her in the right direction. Phyl turns her head sharply toward where Dan’s guiding her.

“Wrong way, silly.”

Phil giggles, her feet crisscrossing as she stumbles a bit into Dan. “Sorry, there’s just so much going on. It’s like being in a spaceship.”

Dan laughs. “I guess?”

“It’s so beautiful.”

Dan looks around the area and then back at Phyl. “Yeah, it is.”

They reach the back of the queue for the ferris wheel. A man sits in a little booth next to a sign that reads RIDES £3 per 2. He flips lazily through a magazine.

Phyl approaches first.

“How many riders?” he asks, still turning pages. Dan come closer to try and sneak a glance at what he’s reading, but it’s all just tiny columns of text and one photo of an unknown bearded man.

“Two.”

“That’ll be three pounds. You’ll be riding with the group in front of you.” He gestures at a couple with a toddler at the back of the queue. 

Dan looks up at the little pods on the ferris wheel and imagines being squished in one alongside three strangers. She struggles to retain her enthusiasm.

Phyl hesitates, looking nervously between them, the man in the booth, and Dan.

“I, um. I was hoping we could ride alone, actually.”

The man sighs and Phyl wilts a little. Dan’s about to say something when he speaks again. “Two pounds extra.”

Phyl smiles and produces five pounds so quickly Dan doesn’t even have time to remember which pocket she’s put her wallet in. 

Dan has a feeling he made up that price on the spot, but she can’t be sure. He takes out two tickets and writes “PP” on each.

“What’s that for?” Dan asks, as Phyl passes her a ticket. 

“Private pod. Have a nice trip ladies. Next!”

Dan almost backs up into a group of boys waiting behind her to buy tickets. She twirls around and follows after Phyl, already standing behind the family they’ll no longer be riding with.

The line moves up slowly but steadily. Each rotation seems to take about five minutes. The wheel never actually comes to a full and complete stop, rather, it just slows down enough to allow people to quickly enter a passing pod and take their seats.

The lights on the wheel reflect rainbow colors onto Phyl’s pale face. Dan watches her as they wait. She seems distracted, nervous. She rubs her ticket between her thumb and forefinger and her eyes trace the slow circuit of the wheel.

“Are you okay?” Dan whispers. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid of heights.”

Phyl scoffs. “No. I’m not afraid of anything. Except swimming in the ocean. And public speaking. And horses.”

“Horses?”

“I’m a little afraid of needles too.” Phyl bites her lip and her eyes seem to go somewhere else, her gaze fixed outward or inward to something Dan can’t see. “Actually, I’m afraid of a lot of things.”

Dan reaches for her hand and laces their fingers together. “But not heights.”

Phyl turns to her and smiles. “Or ghosts.”

When there are only a few groups between them and the platform leading up to the wheel, another attendant comes by to take their tickets. When Dan and Phyl hand theirs over, she studies them, frowning.

“Private pod,” Dan says, trying to be helpful. 

The attendant just stares at her for a second, then nods and heads on to the next group.

“What if PP stands for something else,” Phyl whispers. “Like Punishment Pod. Maybe we’re in trouble. We need to plan an escape.”

“But what if I want to ride in the Punishment Pod?” says Dan, eyebrows jumping.

Phyl shushes her. “People can hear you,” she hisses, but Dan know she’s holding back laughter.

Soon nothing lies between them and their destiny. Dan lets go of Phyl’s hand and heads up the two steps to the platform first. 

“Please be ready to enter the ride and promptly take your seats,” says the attendant waving them closer. His voice is flat and there’s a dead look in his eyes, like he’s been saying that exact phrase over and over for hours and is no longer cognizant of doing it. 

The pod slows and Dan hurries inside, sliding onto one of the benches. Phyl stumbles in after, sitting down hard right next to her. The attendant closes the door behind them.

“You don’t have to sit next to me,” Dan teases. There’s another bench facing them. Truthfully, she’s glad Phyl isn’t sitting there.

“But what if you get scared?” says Phyl.

Dan joins their hands together again, where they rest in the little gap on the bench between their bodies.

“Very funny.” 

Dan looks down at their hands and marvels at how well they fit together. Has any hand she’s held before ever felt this right? There probably isn’t really anything special about the size and shape of their fingers and the way their flesh and bones align. It’s not the hand, but the person it’s attached to.

She stretches her legs out so her feet touch the other bench. The windows are tinted so that from the outside they look dark, but on the inside they showcase a lovely view. 

Dan looks out the window. She watches people shrink. Their clear faces become masks. Trees lose their leaves in the distance and darkness. Lights burn as brilliantly as stars.

Dan can feel Phyl staring at her. Dan’s face is hot. Her whole body is hot. She should really take off her jacket. Her hand is starting to get a bit clammy, but Phyl tightens her grip.

As they near the top, the wheel slows again, to let someone on below. Dan turns away from the beautiful view and looks at Phyl.

Her eyes are intense and unblinking, her eyebrows lowered, her mouth a tight line. 

Dan’s hand is on fire. The flames are spreading to fill the space between them.

She laughs, the sound coming out a bit strange. “Why are you staring like that?”

Phyl moves closer, as slow as the wheel is turning. 

“I’m trying to communicate with you telepathically.”

Her face softens and her eyes travel Dan’s face. Right eye, left eye, mouth. Repeat.

“Yeah?” says Dan. She eases her hand away from Phyl’s so that she can close the space between them on the bench. When their thighs touch, their hands come back together above them.

“Yeah. Is it working?”

“I think so.” 

Dan’s hand finds the side of Phyl’s face and their lips finally meet, up above the world and all alone.

It isn’t as smooth and effortless as it has been in so many of Dan’s dreams. But it’s better. No perfect dream kiss can compare to a real kiss and the possibility of many more to follow.

Dan is dizzy when she exits the pod. The ground seems to move beneath her feet, and she nearly falls down the steps away from the wheel. She wipes her sweaty palms on her jeans.

“That was the best five pounds I’ve ever spent,” says Phyl.

Dan wants to kiss Phyl again, but she’s also hungry. Kissing can happen later, when she regains her strength.

“Let’s eat,” says Phyl, and Dan wonders if there’s something to that whole telepathy thing.

They decide to split up so they can wait in separate lines and gather a variety of food to share with one another. They make a plan to meet at some tables set up by the entrance to the event.

Dan watches Phyl disappear into the crowd. She wants to follow her nose to culinary delights, but first she has something else to do.

Dan finds her way to the table of tiny clay animals. The man looks up at her briefly before turning his attention to someone else browsing. Maybe he recognizes her from before as someone who spent a lot of time looking but not buying.

There are a lot of animals to choose from. Almost every one seems perfect for Phyl, because Phyl loves animals. She’s always sharing animal facts. She imitates animal noises (or tries to). She likes watching animal videos with Dan—puppies playing, pandas sneezing, sloths reaching out so slowly it’s almost suspenseful.

A little cat catches Dan’s eye. It’s over in the corner, hidden behind some larger figures. It’s white with purple stripes. The paint job is crude; the whiskers especially seem to have been done with a shaky hand. But there’s something so charismatic about its expression. The eyes are little arches and the edges of the mouth curl up beneath a tiny pink nose. It leans slightly, its weight off balance. It’s perfect.

She gets the man’s attention and buys the cat. He wraps it in tissue paper—as delicately as one might swaddle a baby, or wrap a body in a burial shroud—and puts it in a paper bag. Dan stuffs the bag in her pocket and then hurries off to find some food. She looks around to see if Phyl is anywhere nearby, perhaps even close enough to have witnessed the transaction, but she’s nowhere in sight. 

Ten minutes later, Dan arrives at a table laden with fried dough, some kind of sausage with peppers and onions, and a huge basket of chips. She can barely balance it all in two hands, and that’s the main reason she hasn’t bought anything else. Not to mention her haul combined with Phyl’s will probably be more than enough. 

She waits for five minutes. No Phyl. She eats three chips, reasoning she should enjoy them while they’re hot. Another five minutes, and she helps herself to quite a few more.

Dan’s phone vibrates in her pocket. She wipes her greasy fingers on her jeans before she wiggles it out of the tight space.

It’s a text from Phyl.

_I’m lost :(_

Dan stands up and scans the crowd. She can see Phyl near one of the vendor tables. There’s a lot of people between her and Dan, but she’s close enough that Dan can see the worried expression on her face, and the way she clutches her phone in one hand and a big white paper bag in the other, eyes darting around. 

Dan raises her arms above her head and waves. In this moment, she’s grateful for her height, because soon enough Phyl spots her. She raises the hand holding her phone up and waves back before moving through the crowd toward Dan.

“The table’s literally right by the entrance,” says Dan, as Phyl puts down the bag and sits across from her. “All you had to do was walk in the opposite direction of the ferris wheel. How could you not find it?”

“It’s so busy and noisy here,” says Phyl, reaching for a chip. “Everything is everywhere.”

Dan was in charge of savory food, and Phyl sweet. From out of the bag she pulls crepes, caramel apples, fudge, and fried dough (“Fried dough isn’t savory, Dan. It’s sweet.” “Oh, what a shame, now we have too much.”)

They eat to their hearts’ content, and then pack the rest up into the white bag. Dan is so full—of food and happiness, and a kind of surreal floaty feeling, like her body could drift into the sky like a balloon if she let it. She’s drunk on the whole evening. 

Phyl groans and rubs her stomach. “I think we got a bit carried away there.”

“I really like you,” says Dan. She knows it’s a silly thing to say in that moment, but she can’t not say it. It seems unbearable not to express that information immediately.

Phyl looks down and giggles. She’s blushing.

“You have to say it too,” Dan pouts. “You have to say you really like me.”

“I really like you. I like you as much as that chocolate crepe. Possibly more.”

“You’ll like me more when you see what I have for you.” She reaches into her pocket for the little paper bag. She almost forgot about it.

Phyl’s eyes go wide when Dan places it on the table and pushes it toward her.

“A gift. For you.”

“Oh my god.” Phyl reaches into the pocket of her own jacket and pulls out an identical bag. “You didn’t? Did you?”

“I fucking did.” She laughs.

They swap bags. Dan waits for Phyl to opens her first. She unwraps the little cat and gasps.

“She’s perfect! I love her. I’m naming her Belinda.” She strokes Belinda with one finger. “Your turn.”

Dan takes the little tissue paper mummy out. Her heart is beating strangely fast. She unwraps the animal carefully, feeling its shape and trying to guess what it is.

It’s a bear. A small, round, brown bear with little button ears and a bewildered expression. One eye is larger than the other. It’s wonderful.

“Phyl…I’m going to protect this bear with my life.”

“What’s their name?”

Dan considers the creature. “I don’t know. Names are important. I’ll have to think about it.”

Phyl nods. “You’re taking this seriously. I respect that.” Then she yawns. “Gosh, I’m so tired. I could sleep right here.”

Dan wraps the bear back up. She puts it in its bag and puts the bag in her pocket. She stands up and goes around to Phyl’s side of the table, patting her on the shoulder. 

“Let’s get you and Belinda back home.”

The crowd is dwindling around them. Many of the vendors have packed up. The lights go out on the ferris wheel. Dan and Phyl walk close together, swaying with their arms linked as they leave the park. 

Dan thinks about one of the first therapists she ever saw, a few years ago when she first started looking for help. During one of their earliest sessions, she had asked Dan to describe one of her happiest days. Dan couldn’t think of anything. She could conjure vague moments here and there, but they were smothered by the heavy weight in her chest, and by the all-consuming conviction that she would never be happy again, and so none of that mattered.

Dan didn’t stay with that therapist long. It wasn’t a good fit. But if she were to cross paths with her tomorrow, she knows exactly what she’d tell her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading!! and thank you so much for the comments they are like funnel cake for the soul. 
> 
> [ reblog on tumblr ](https://velvetnautilus.tumblr.com/private/189440688075/tumblr_RK2XxhFpleBnXlUmM)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, thank you everyone for your comments on the last chapter!
> 
> a little fact for you since i haven't addressed it in the story: Phyl is 27 and Dan is 25. jsyk.

The red light is replaced by a space heater; its orange glow illuminates the boathouse. Dan and Phyl sit on their sleeping bags, bundled in coats, hats, and gloves, and listen to the waves rolling languidly into shore. It’s a still night, but the weather is just this side of too cold for this shit.

There is no boat in the boathouse, just the empty space where one could be. The boards around the hole are beginning to rot. They slope and curl down at the edges like they’re slowly being sucked into a vortex. The water outside is black as ink with a glossy sheen. It undulates in the moonlight, and Dan knows Phyl will be keeping her eyes off the motion.

Phyl’s nose hasn’t stopped dripping since they arrived, and it isn’t because of the cold. The skin around her nostrils and upper lip is red and raw. Her eyes are bloodshot and teary too, and she complains of a pressure in her head. It’s like she’s allergic to the ghost.

The buggy is parked outside the backdoor to the boathouse. Farther up the drive, James and Michael are set up in the van, and father up still is the grand house on the hill, overlooking the coast. 

The house is inhabited by an Ursula Wengell, a woman in her early nineties who’s called them out here to deal with the ghost in her boathouse. She sent them a very long email detailing all the supernatural happenings that have occurred, and her own theories on the matter. Lights went on and off in the boathouse—which had no lamps—and traveled around the beach and up and down the drive, like someone was wandering about with a lantern. Ursula was a night owl, and watched them through her bedroom window. A few times she got up and went outside, but as she approached the lights would blink out, leaving only the torch in her own hand alive in the darkness.

There was also the sounds, which she heard in the day, when she went walking along the shore. Sometimes they were great crashes, “like elephants off diving boards” or little plunks “like skipping stones.” Whatever it was, it sounded like something was falling into the water inside the boathouse. She would rush inside and the water would be rippling there in the empty boat space. But nothing could have fallen in from any kind of height; certainly no elephants had passed through the ceiling. 

Ursula was convinced it was the ghost of her older brother, an RAF pilot whose plane disappeared in the second world war. He and the rest of the crew were never found. Her brother had always been afraid of drowning, and family legend was that he’d been shot down over the water.

Ursula just wants her brother to be at peace. And for him to “leave an old woman alone and move on with his damned afterlife.”

So now they’re sitting in a drafty boathouse. Dan knows that there’s no accurate way to determine who or what a ghost is. People look for signs and clues, and make up their own minds, but there’s no absolute certainty. Phyl told her that, but she’s also read all about it on Beyond the Veil. They’ve come to a point where many things Phyl tells Dan she already knows, because she’s read them on the forum. In that way there isn’t a lot of difference in their knowledge—Dan even knows some things Phyl doesn’t—but reading about things doesn’t compare to experiencing them. Dan has none of Phyl’s intuition. She doesn’t understand the ghosts the way Phyl does.

They haven’t seen any lights or heard any unusual noises. If anything interesting is happening in the Mystery Machine, they don’t know about it. When they arrived, just as the sun was sinking fully into the sea, Phyl said she could feel some vibrations from the ghost. Just a sort of steady chatter. But matters have failed to progress and they’ve been sitting in the boathouse for a few hours.

“Are your ghosty senses tingling yet?” Dan asks, leaning back on her hands. 

She’s been asking Phyl a variation of this question every time there’s a lull in conversation. She has an itch to speak tonight, to fill the silence. Unfortunately, Phyl is not matching her energy. She’s bringing about five words to the table for every twenty Dan supplies.

“No, surprisingly nothing has changed in the last three minutes. I’ll tell you when it does.”

Dan huffs and leans forward again, letting her head hang down. She probably sounds like a child in the backseat constantly asking “are we there yet?” Sometimes ghost hunting isn’t fun or fascinating. Sometimes it’s just boring. Sometimes it’s just an aching chill and a building restlessness as time drags. And sometimes Phyl isn’t fun either, and that’s okay. Dan doesn’t need Phyl to entertain her all the time. She’s just worked herself into some kind of weird groove tonight. 

Phyl sniffles and wipes her nose with the back of her glove. Dan takes her own gloves off and holds her hands up close to the space heater.

“Don’t catch on fire,” says Phyl.

“The heat’s not going to leap out and latch onto my skin, setting me ablaze.”

“It could happen,” says Phyl, sniffing after every word. “I watched a documentary on spontaneous human combustion, and—”

“That’s not real.”

“—there was a woman who sat naked by a radiator and just burst into flames. _Whoosh_.” 

“And was there a dramatic reenactment featuring a naked woman? Are you sure this was a documentary? What dodgy website did you watch it on? Should I be concerned?”

“No reenactment, but there was a photo. Just this black patch of burnt carpet next to the radiator. It was really eerie. I had a nightmare about it.”

Dan pulls her hands back, even though she’s not at all afraid of catching on fire. Her palms were just starting to feel a little too hot.

Phyl tells Dan about her dreams all the time. Dan doesn’t tell Phyl about her own dreams, because lately the only ones she remembers are nightmares—thankfully most nights she doesn’t remember anything—and if she tells Phyl about them then Phyl will have a nightmare inspired by Dan’s nightmare. 

And a not insignificant amount of Dan’s nightmares involve Phyl coming to some kind of bodily harm, so it’s really just best if she keeps them to herself.

Phyl stretches and yawns. She scoots off her sleeping bag and starts unzipping it. 

“I think I’ll take a nap.”

“Seriously?” Dan hates how whiny her voice sounds. She just doesn’t want to be alone right now.

Phyl wiggles down into the sleeping bag and zips it all the way up. She burrows down even further until only the black top of her head shows, and lets out a sigh of contentment. 

Dan could do the same, but she knows she’d just lie awake.

“I’m going for a walk then,” she says.

Phyl makes a noise of acknowledgement.

“Just yell if something starts happening.”

Phyl repeats the noise. She looks like a big blue caterpillar.

Outside the boathouse, where there’s no heater or walls to shelter her, the air is significantly colder. Dan almost turns back around immediately. 

The beach is rocky. She moves slowly across stones and patches of sand, navigating the uneven terrain with care. She can smell the salt of the sea, and hear the lullaby of the gentle waves flowing in and away. Up on the cliff, there’s a light on in one room of the house.

She walks away from the boathouse, stopping to look back over her shoulder frequently. She doesn’t want to stray too far in case Phyl needs her.

She pulls her phone out of her coat pocket and unlocks it. She checks her email to see if she has any notifications from Beyond the Veil. There’s nothing. She stuffs it back in her pocket.

Yesterday Dan sent her very first private message to another user on the forum. Waiting for a reply is killing her. On one hand she’s dreading it, and kind of hopes there was some sort of glitch and the message didn’t even go through. On the other, every time she checks and sees there’s no response, she’s disappointed.

It all started with a new thread, “What do ghosts sound like to you?” It wasn’t a novel topic of discussion on the forum by any means, but it was a fresh conversation on a subject of particular interest to Dan.

A lot of people described things similar to Phyl’s experience—vibrations and sounds like singing. Or voices, murmurs. One user said different ghosts sounded like different musical instruments to them. One might be a flute, another a piano. It all sounded rather pleasant. Then she read a post by a user named maddieex57 that made her heart leap.

_At first it was just this awful screaming. SO bad. It wasn’t like haunting type either cuz only I could hear it even after I met other people with the gift. It was all sunshine and melodies for them and it really sucked but then I caught my first ghost on my own and it changed. Now I just hear soft voices kind of like friendly whispering and it’s SO much better. I actually like finding ghosts now!_

And awful screaming sound that only they could hear, while others around them heard something else? It didn’t sound exactly like Dan’s situation, but it was something. Her hands shook as she clicked on the user’s profile and went to send her a message. 

_hi! i saw your post in the thread on what ghosts sound like to you and i’d love to know more about your experience because it kind of sounds like something i’m dealing with. can i ask you a few questions? thanks!_

The original draft she typed out was much longer, but she pared it down so as not to bombard this poor person with a dozen questions. 

Dan hasn’t mentioned any of this to Phyl. Although she said she would help Dan figure things out, they just haven’t gotten around to working on that. When they’re on a case it never seems like the best time for research, and when they’re together in their free time, it’s the last thing Dan wants to think about.

Dating Phyl is a lot like being her friend but with some added perks, and a warm, comforting sense of security—like an extra blanket on a cold night. The comfort comes from knowing they’re on the same page. And what a wonderful page it is.

Behind her, Dan hears a splash, like something heavy has fallen into the water. Something like a body, maybe. She turns around quickly and gasps aloud when she sees that the windows of the boathouse have gone dark. The space heater is off.

She runs back to the boathouse, tripping over rocks and her own feet but never falling.

“Phyl! Phyl, are you okay?”

She throws open the side door and the space heater is on, lighting the room. She didn’t see it turn on. When she was outside it was off, and when she went inside it was on, as if it had never been off in the first place.

She presses a hand to her chest to feel the rapid beating of her heart. Phyl is sitting up, one arm out of the sleeping bag. Her hair is mussed up and she’s still sniffling. She squints at Dan.

“What? What’s wrong?”

Dan sits down next to her and reaches out to place a hand on the sleeping bag, somewhere over a lump that must be one of her legs. 

“I heard a splash and there was no light. I thought you’d fallen in or something.”

Or been dragged in, she thinks. Or pushed.

“No, just been sleeping.” She frees her upper body entirely from the sleeping bag. “My eyes feel like they’re on fire.”

“Did you bring your glasses? Can you take your contacts out?”

“Oh, yeah, in my bag. I have everything…”

Dan glances over to Phyl’s backpack, by the wall where she dropped it as soon as they entered. She gets to her feet to go retrieve it. Dan should have said something about taking them out earlier, when Phyl said she was going to take a nap. 

“What would you do without me?” She grabs the bag and hoists it over her shoulder. “Lose your eyes, that’s what.”

One moment Dan is walking and the next she isn’t, because her left foot drops out from underneath her. It’s gone through a soft spot in a rotting plank. She falls backwards onto her ass, throwing a hand out behind her just in time to keep herself from laying out flat on her back.

“Oh my god!” Phyl crawls out of the sleeping bag toward her. “Are you alright? Did you hurt yourself?”

Her foot is submerged in the cold water, soaking through her shoe and sock. Her wrist feels sore and her ankle stings, but she’s not in any major pain.

“Only my pride…help me up?”

Dan tries to pull her foot out of the hole but it won’t come out. She pulls harder and something sharp pushes into her skin.

“Fucking hell, my foot’s stuck.”

Phyl kneels beside her. “What do you mean, stuck? You can’t just lift it out?”

“Yes, Phyl, that’s what stuck means.”

Phyl uses her phone’s light to get a better look at the situation. 

“It’s sort of like…part of the wood’s gone through the fabric of your pants and back out and in again. Like sewing with a big needle. Except it’s a big shard of wood.”

“Great. Can you get it out?” Her foot is starting to go numb in the cold water.

“I don’t know.” She examines Dan’s shin right above her ankle, poking it in several places. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Well, I’d rather deal with a little pain then freeze my fucking foot off.”

Phyl turns to her with a woeful expression. “I’m afraid we may have to cut it off, anyway.”

“Shut up.” Dan tries to swipe at her but Phyl moves out of the way, laughing. “Have you got anything sharp, like scissors or something? My pants are already ruined.”

“I’m not sure. Let me check.” She crawls around behind Dan, where Dan dropped her backpack when she fell.

“If not in yours, check mine.” Dan’s pretty sure she doesn’t have anything to cut with in there, but it’s not impossible. 

Phyl comes up empty with her bag, and walks back over by the sleeping bags to look through Dan’s. Dan has a brief moment of _what if there’s something I don’t want her to see in there?_ panic, but it passes. 

Then, below her in the water, something grabs her foot and pulls. 

Dan screams, and then Phyl screams, startled by the noise.

“What, what?! What’s wrong?!”

“My foot! It’s got my foot!”

Whatever it is, it keeps tugging on her foot. It can’t pull it down, because of how her pants are caught in the wood, but it keeps trying.

Phyl grabs onto Dan’s leg and tries to pull her foot out. The wood scratches into Dan’s skin. The thing beneath her pulls harder.

“Wait, wait, wait!”

“I don’t know what to do!” Phyl’s freaking out. So is Dan, but something about the tone of Phyl’s voice makes her want to pull herself together.

She takes a deep, shaky breath. And then she realizes something. She can’t feel anything grabbing her anymore.

“Hold on, I think it’s gone!”

“Really?” Phyl sniffles. Dan looks up and sees that it’s not just from the runny nose that’s been plaguing her all night. She’s crying.

Dan has only seen Phyl cry once before, when they watched a sad movie together. There’s something scary about it now. Phyl is always the composed one when they’re hunting ghosts. She keeps her head no matter how the ghosts mess with them…

Oh. Right.

Dan forces a laugh. “Don’t cry. I think it was just the ghost fucking with me.”

Dan isn’t really sure if a ghost is capable of touching her like that, or if it’s all an illusion. She’s read mixed things on Beyond the Veil, and been told conflicting stories by Phyl as well. She’d like to believe this time it’s just an illusion.

Phyl wipes her nose and eyes with her gloves, which must be damp and disgusting by now. Dan makes a mental note to put tissues in her bag for next time. Phyl’s eyes are so red. She still has her contacts in.

“Yeah? Do you think so?”

“You know how these bastards are.”

Phyl laughs and smiles weakly. “I sort of forgot about why we’re here. The ghost. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

Maybe it’s just the effects of the ghost, wearing her down tonight. Or Phyl’s just tired in general. She gets foggy sometimes. Just last week when she was at Phyl’s flat, Dan watched her peel an orange and then throw it out and walk away from the peels on the counter. When Dan pulled the orange out of the bin and asked her why she’d done it, Phyl looked at it like she’d never seen an orange before in her life. Then she claimed she just hadn’t had enough coffee yet.

“You’re an absolute mess, Lester. But I do still need to get my foot out of here, so…”

Phyl takes a deep breath and comes closer. She examines Dan’s leg and the hole in the wood again. 

“Okay,” she mumbles to herself. “It’s fine. Like birthing a cow.”

“How is this _anything_ like birthing a cow? When have _you_ ever birthed a cow?”

Phyl takes off her gloves and slides a hand into the hole, through a thin gap between Dan’s ankle and the wood around it. 

“I’m going to try to break off the piece you’re stuck on,” she says. “Tell me if I hurt you, and I’ll stop. Okay?”

She looks so serious. Dan sighs. “Okay. Get on with it, then.”

Phyl starts pushing the piece of wood down, trying to snap it off from the rest. It does hurt a bit when she jabs the end into Dan’s leg, but she’s pretty numb by that point anyway, and she doesn’t say anything.

Phyl has both her hands in the water, pushing and pulling in the narrow space. Nothing really seems to be happening, and Dan’s starting to think it’s not going to work. There just isn’t enough room for Phyl to maneuver. But then she hears a snap and crack as the wood splinters.

“Yes!” Phyl cries. “Alright, hold still.”

Dan waits obediently while Phyl wraps her hands around her ankle and pulls her foot up out of the hole. She’s still attached to the piece of wood, but it’s been broken free from the rest of the floor. 

Dan gives a heavy sigh of relief when her foot is flat on solid ground again. Phyl carefully tugs on the wood until it pulls free. Dan can hear it ripping the fabric of her pants further, but she doesn’t care about that. 

Phyl turns away from her to stare into the water. Her eyes are intensely focused on it; the rest of her face is blank. She leans forward like she’s trying to see something just below the surface,

“Hey now, don’t fall in—”

Phyl plunges her head into the water.

“Hey!” 

Dan is about to reach out and pull her back, when Phyl’s head whips up out of the water. She gets to her feet and starts walking toward the backdoor of the boathouse.

Dan just watches for a second before she realizes what’s happening. Then she jumps up and rushes to open the door, to let Phyl through to the buggy. 

She doesn’t have a chance to get her headphones, so she’ll just have to cover her ears and bear it. But then something new happens. Dan doesn’t quite get out of Phyl’s way in time, and Phyl’s shoulder strikes against hers hard. 

It’s like a red hot burn, piercing through all the layers she’s wearing, and Dan gasps and stumbles backward. Phyl doesn’t even flinch, just dropping to her knees before the buggy. Dan is so thrown off by the unexpected pain that she doesn’t remember to cover her ears. The sound is like a saw cutting through her head, so intense it brings tears to her eyes.

Then it’s all over. She opens her eyes and Phyl is sitting there in front of her, water dripping down from her hair all over the floor.

Dan has touched Phyl while she carried a ghost before, but only lightly and briefly. It was nothing like this. She touches her shoulder and winces.

She can’t see Phyl’s face, what with her hair hanging over it like clumps of black seaweed.

“Phyl?”

Phyl’s head snaps up and she looks at Dan. For just a moment there is absolutely no sign of recognition on her face, as if she has no idea who Dan is. But then it passes and she smiles.

She lifts her hand for a high five. “Give me those fingers!”

Dan is too tired to make any kind of joke. She slaps Phyl’s hand, feeling like the last bit of energy her body possesses went into the motion.

“I’m so tired. Why am I so tired?” She’s barely done anything. She just went for a walk on the beach and then sat around with her foot in a hole. Phyl’s the one who swallowed a ghost.

“Me too. I don’t think I can stand up. I think my legs are fully useless right now.”

But they have to get up. Full sensation has returned to Dan’s foot, making it throb painfully. Phyl needs to dry her hair. And take those fucking contact lenses out before her eyes shrivel up and fall out of her head. 

Dan briefly entertains the idea of texting Michael (James never reads his texts) and begging him to bring James and carry them to safety, but she still has some pride left. They probably couldn’t lift her or Phyl anyway.

Phyl shuffles closer to Dan and rests her head on her shoulder—thankfully not the one that hurts. 

“Let’s just sit here for a moment, okay? Let’s just…be still.”

Dan closes her eyes. Her ears are still ringing. Phyl’s hair is wet against her neck. She breathes in deep. She can smell the salt.

Someone is approaching the boathouse; she can hear their footsteps crunching on the gravel path. She opens her eyes and Phyl lifts her head. The door opens and reveals Ursula, torch in hand. She’s wearing slippers and a nightgown under her coat.

“You’ve done it, haven’t you? I felt it.” She places a hand over her heart. “I felt him leave.”

“Yes,” says Phyl, smiling. She points at the buggy. “The ghost is in there.” 

Ursula shines the light on the buggy, and then back to Dan and Phyl.

“You two look an awful mess. Come up to the house and sort yourselves out with some tea and a hot bath.”

She goes to turn the space heater off, and Dan and Phyl manage to rise to their feet, holding onto one another. Ursula grabs both their backpacks, swinging one over her shoulder and carrying the other in her unoccupied hand. Dan feels very pitiful watching the tiny old woman move about with such energy when her own legs are shaking.

They follow Ursula up the path slowly, passing by the van. Its windows are dark, and they don’t bother to disturb the men.

The house has several bathrooms with bathtubs, so Dan and Phyl each claim one for their own. The tub in Dan’s bathroom is a great, claw-footed, porcelain beast. While it fills, she strips off her coat and clothing. The mirror on the wall is huge, surrounded by green glass tiles with glittering grout between them, perhaps from bits of mica or something similar mixed into the cement.

She regards herself. Her face is flushed, her hair a sweaty mess pushed off her forehead. Some skin on her right shoulder is reddened and tender to the touch. It really is like a mild burn. She wonders if she should tell Phyl about it. Maybe she knows something. Maybe she would just worry, or feel guilty. She’ll probably see it anyway, but Dan can just make something up. 

Dan wishes there was more information about hunters who carry ghosts in their bodies on Beyond the Veil. She wishes she was brave enough to start those conversations herself. The idea of asking on the forum almost feels like going behind Phyl’s back. But asking Phyl about it directly isn’t easy either. There’s almost a sense of taboo. Dan wonders if maybe she’s just projecting her own discomfort around the topic onto Phyl.

She turns away from herself. The bath is ready. It looks so inviting. The water is quite hot when she slips in; it’s almost uncomfortable. But then she can feel the heat working its way into her muscles, driving out the chill, and it’s heavenly. She keeps her shoulder above the surface.

Dan lays in the bath till the water cools and then reluctantly gets out. Ursula’s towels are thick and fluffy. They may just be the softest towels Dan has ever felt. Maybe she should ask Ursula to adopt her.

She throws on her pajamas and crouches to scoop up her discarded clothing from the floor. She pulls her phone out of the back pocket of her pants and unlocks it, more out of habit than any desire to use it right then.

She has a notification from Beyond the Veil.

It has to be what she thinks it is. There’s only one thing it could be. Her fingers shake as she opens up the email from the forum and taps the link to go to the site.

_maddieex57 has replied to your private message._

She almost doesn’t want to open it. What if it just says _Fuck you! I’m not helping you, you stupid no-posts loser! :)_…No, that’s unlikely. She opens the message before she can think about it anymore. It’s very short, almost disappointingly so.

_Hiya! Sure u can ask me whatever. Idk if I’ll be any help lol but go ahead :D_

Then again, all Dan had done was ask if she could ask maddieex57 questions. What more did she expect besides a yes or no answer? And she got the answer she wanted.

But what does she want to ask?

There’s a soft knock on the door. She nearly drops her phone.

“Dan?”

She’ll deal with it later. Dan stuffs her clothes into her bag and opens the door to find Phyl standing outside. She’s in her pajamas and a hoodie she borrowed from Dan. Her freshly washed hair looks soft and shiny and she has her glasses on, finally.

“Ursula set up a guest room for us to share. I told her you have bad dreams if you sleep alone in new places, but I think she knows that was an excuse. I think I’m detecting some queer energies from her, actually.”

“So you can detect ‘energies’ now?”

“I have many powers. I’m a powerful being.”

Dan puts her bag down so she can pull Phyl into a tight hug. Caught off guard, Phyl lets out a little_ oof!_ and then giggles. Dan ignores the ache in her shoulder.

“Let’s go to bed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading!
> 
> [ reblog on tumblr ](https://velvetnautilus.tumblr.com/private/189926506605/tumblr_IVRBCUXaovRC5pqp2)


	5. Chapter 5

_ DD tonight don’t forget. wear comfortable clothes _

Dan sighs after she reads the somewhat cryptic text from AJ. DD stands for Double Date, the official excursion AJ has planned for Dan, Phyl, Gwen, and herself. Dan still has no idea what they’re actually doing, other than that it will involve going outside, and won’t just be something simple like going to a restaurant or seeing a movie.

_ Wear comfortable clothes? _ Why? She forwards the text to Phyl, unsure if AJ has sent it to her as well. Dan can’t remember if they exchanged numbers or not.

They’ve only met once before, briefly, when AJ and Gwen arrived at Dan’s flat just as Phyl was getting ready to leave. The four of them made not-so-awkward small talk for a bit. It was pleasant enough, and Dan has no objections to the idea of them all hanging out again. She wants her friends to like Phyl, and she wants Phyl to like her friends. But she’d rather they all just sat around one of their flats playing board games and drinking wine, or something equally casual. Why does it have to be something so grand and mysterious?

Phyl had agreed to the idea readily enough. She seemed excited when Dan asked if she wanted to go out with AJ and Gwen. But what if AJ has them do something Phyl will really hate? Or that will make her uncomfortable? Dan and Phyl’s relationship is still fairly new, especially compared to Gwen and AJ, who have been together for nearly three years now. One bad date won’t spoil anything for them, but what if it damages things between her and Phyl?

Dan did sneakily text Gwen to ask her what AJ was planning, but she claimed she didn’t know either, which Dan finds hard to believe. Gwen doesn’t like surprises; they make her anxious. So either she's lying, or AJ has planned something she knows Gwen will enjoy. AJ knows Gwen deeply. Far better than Dan knows Phyl.

Phyl texts Dan back.

_ Comfy but still cool or don’t care how u look comfy? or slip into something more comfortable sexy comfy? ;) _

_ this is a date not an orgy _

_ Too bad. u have hot friends _

Dan knows Phyl is just joking around, which is why she hates the little flame of jealousy that flares up in her chest. It only burns for a moment though. That’s progress for Dan. This is the most secure she’s ever felt in a relationship.

_ r u just dating me to get to them? :( _

_ No it’s just as the spice girls say…you gotta get with my friends _

Dan hasn’t met any of Phyl’s friends yet. She knows they exist. Someone as charming and kind as Phyl has to have a good number of friends.

Dan heaves her body off the sofa and goes to her bedroom. She’d been planning on trying to look as hot as possible, but now she’s not so sure. She thought it would be nice to look good for Phyl. Although, Phyl has made it abundantly clear through her actions since they started dating that Dan doesn’t have to put much effort into seducing her. Of course, she also wanted to look good for her own sake as well.

She pulls an oversized striped jumper from her wardrobe. It’s definitely not sexy, but it is comfortable. For the bottom half she finds her softest jeans. The black denim has been washed so many times it’s fading to gray, but that means the fabric has also been stripped of its stiffness. And they feature plenty of rips, including one high on her thigh that’s bordering on scandalous from all the wear and tear that’s expanded it. Formless blob on top, bit of a tease on the bottom. It’s a good compromise.

She checks the time. Phyl should be arriving at her place in about forty-five minutes. Then they’ll leave to meet up with Gwen and AJ at their flat. Phyl actually lives closer to them than she does to Dan, but she’s never been to their street, so Dan suggested they travel together. Everything will go more smoothly if they don’t have to deal with Phyl getting lost before the date even begins.

Since she has time to kill, Dan plops down in front of her desk and opens up Beyond the Veil on her desktop. She opens up her conversation with maddieex57. They haven’t replied yet to her last message. She scrolls up and skims through all the messages they’ve exchanged so far.

At first, Dan wasn’t sure how to go about explaining her predicament to this stranger. She wanted to be open about the details of what she was experiencing—to be as accurate as possible—but she was hesitant to talk too much about Phyl. So at first she just described the noise she heard when the ghosts were transferred into their “transport device,” not mentioning where the ghosts were being transferred from. But then maddieex57 was asking her questions about the methods and materials she was using to catch the ghosts, and Dan realized she’d be wasting both of their time by withholding information.

It’s not like they’ll ever know who she’s talking about. She hasn’t told them Phyl’s username, and Phyl has never posted anything about the way she carries ghosts on the forum. And Dan’s never posted anything about anything; there’s nothing to link their usernames. For all maddieex57 knows, Dan’s talking about someone who doesn’t even use Beyond the Veil.

Dan also had to admit that she’s not really a ghost hunter. She’s never caught anything by herself. She sort of just offers Phyl moral support while she does all the work. Dan knows Phyl doesn’t see it that way, that Phyl considers them a team. But at the end of the day, Phyl could do what she does without Dan, and Dan can’t catch ghosts on her own.

Dan’s inexperience has been the most recent focal point of their discussion. What Dan hears and what maddieex57 used to hear aren’t really that similar, apart from being unpleasant sounds. But everything changed for them after they caught their first ghost. Dan thinks that suggests there’s a chance things could change for her if she bags one herself.

Dan’s certainly not going to attempt doing it the way Phyl does; she has no idea if she’d even be physically capable of that if she knew how. If she wants to catch a ghost, she’ll have to go by more conventional means. Which brings her to the last message she sent.

_ i’ve done a lot of reading here about catching ghosts but i have no idea really where to start? my friend doesn’t use any methods like the ones I’ve read about and idk anyone irl who does _

She’s hoping maddieex57 will point her in the right direction. Because she has no idea where to begin.

A little voice in her head screams  _ talk to Phyl! _

She will. Eventually. She just needs to work some of this out on her own first.

Dan gets up and heads to the bathroom. She puts on some eyeliner, then cleans it off because she fucked it up. She tries again but it still doesn’t look great. It looks more like end-of-the-night makeup. She’s too nervous to do it right, and it’s been a while since she last wore any. She rearranges her curls in the mirror. They’re not being very cooperative today. She wishes she knew where they were going.

Dan wanders back into her bedroom and sits down at her desk. She’s surprised to see a reply from maddieex57.

_ Well I can definitely link u to some resources! but I’m not sure if you’ll be able to do it. I’ve never heard of anyone without the gift catching a ghost and idk if u have it? cuz like u said u only hear that one noise right? but u don’t hear or sense anything else? So it may not be possible :( _

Dan flushes, anger and embarrassment twisting in her stomach. Right, she doesn’t have the “the gift.” She’s not special. Dan fucking hates when people call it the gift. How pretentious. Phyl has never talked about it like that. 

But they’re only trying to help, and they’re not wrong.

She closes the browser and leaves her room. No more ghost shit tonight.

Dan practically skips to the door when Phyl arrives. Seeing her is exactly what she needs right now. It’s funny how the person who brought the world of ghost hunting into her life can also serve as a wonderful distraction from it.

She pulls Phyl into a kiss the second she steps into the flat. Phyl laughs when she pulls back.

“Are we having a good day then?”

“I am now.”

Phyl takes off her coat and hangs it by the door. She’s wearing black skinny jeans (predictable) and a blue and pink hoodie. Her cheeks are red from the cold. She lowers the hood and Dan reaches out to smooth her hair back into place.

“So you really don’t know where we’re going tonight?”

“No idea.”

Phyl frowns. “I hope it’s not a club.”

Dan smiles, imagining Phyl standing stiffly in the middle of a crowd of twisting, jumping bodies.

“Don’t worry, Gwen would never agree to that.”

Phyl still looks unsure, but she doesn’t say anything more about it. They kill some time on the sofa watching the end of some unnoteworthy movie, and then they head out.

On the tube, Phyl ends up squashed between two incredibly bulky men, while Dan stands in front of her. Her shoulders are up by her ears and she clasps her hands awkwardly in her lap. She looks up at Dan with pleading eyes, as if she has the power to make them move. Dan glares at them but neither one of them is looking at her. When Muscle Man No. 1 gets up to exit the train, Dan swoops down into his seat.

Phyl squishes close to her, and leans in to whisper in her ear.

“He smelt of boiled cabbage,” she says in an odd voice.

Dan bites her lip and tries not to laugh.

When they arrive at AJ and Gwen’s building, Dan leads Phyl into the tiny lobby, where they're greeted by a locked door with a column of buttons beside labels with the tenants’ names. Dan presses the button next to the label “Weaver/Truong” and waits. They stand together for a minute and nothing happens. She presses the button again, holding it down with her finger for a few seconds. She peers through the glass window in the door to see if anyone is coming down the stairs.

“Maybe they’re in the bathroom,” says Phyl.

“What, both of them? Together?”

“I don’t know. Why don’t you just text one of them?”

Dan whips out her phone and texts Gwen.

_ we’re here _

She presses the button again. Something about their building robs her of all patience. It might be that the little lobby is so cramped and always smells like wet dog and sweat, like someone went jogging in the rain with their pet and then came home and loitered in there for half an hour.

Gwen replies.

_ On my way down! _

About twenty seconds later she comes running down the stairs, hurrying over to let Dan and Phyl in.

“Sorry, guys, the bell’s broken. I’ve been texting the landlord every day for a week, but…well, you understand.”

“Don’t worry, we weren’t here for long at all,” says Phyl, smiling warmly.

“Well, okay.” Gwen pushes her glasses up, then turns away abruptly and hurries back up the stairs. Dan and Phyl follow at a slower pace.

Phyl looks concerned. “Did I say something wrong?” she whispers to Dan.

“No, not at all.”

For the first month of knowing her, Dan thought that Gwen disliked her, until AJ pulled her aside one day and explained that she was just shy and took a long time to warm up to people. (“And you’re always thinking people hate you for no reason. You should work on that.”)

When they walk into the flat Dan hears AJ call out from some unknown location.

“Hello, lovebirds! Be with you in a minute.”

“That means at least ten minutes,” says Gwen. “So feel free to sit down.” She gestures toward the sofa.

Phyl looks at Dan with uncertainty, so Dan takes initiative and walks over to the green and white pinstriped monstrosity. As soon as she’s seated, Phyl joins her, leaving very little space between them. The sofa really is quite ugly. AJ loves to brag about how she found it abandoned on the street and paid a random man 15 pounds to help her carry it back to her flat. The story always fails to impress Dan. (“What if there were bed bugs or lice? Or worse? What if the man you led to your apartment killed you? 15 pounds is nothing compared to the thrill of the kill. For some people.”)

Gwen wraps and unwraps one of her dozens of long black braids around her wrist. It’s a nervous habit—one of many. Gwen’s hands are always up to something, even when the rest of her is still.

“Would you like anything to drink?” she asks. She’s being uncharacteristically formal. Dan attributes it to Phyl’s presence. They’re only acquaintances still.

“No thank you,” says Phyl.

“I’ll tell you what I would like,” says Dan. “Any hint as to where we’re going.”

Gwen smiles. There’s a devilish glint in her eye. “Oh, I already told you. I don’t know. It’s a surprise.”

“Bullshit. You and AJ are in cahoots.”

Gwen sits down on the other side of Dan. Her body language is looser now. Her hands fiddle with the hem of her shirt, but it’s more of a subconscious movement than an anxious one.

“Patience is a virtue, you know.”

“Dan’s not very virtuous,” says Phyl.

Dan gapes at her. “Why am I being attacked?”

AJ suddenly appears in the room, brandishing a pamphlet of some kind. “Jane Club!” she cries, before bopping first Gwen and then Phyl on the head. “I’ve got you, Dan.”

“My hero,” says Dan, smiling sweetly.

Gwen swipes the pamphlet out of AJ’s hand. “I hope these are divorce papers.”

“Oh!” says Phyl, “I didn’t know you were married!”

“They’re not.”

Not officially, at least. But they have attained a level of domestic bliss Dan can only dream of. She looks around the room and sees a seamlessly shared home. Sure, they have their own possessions. They don’t share every little object. But it’s all mixed together, and they support each other’s tastes. AJ brought home an ugly sofa, so Gwen crocheted a blanket in complementing colors to drape over the back. Gwen collects ceramic elephants, so AJ put together an Ikea shelf for her to display them on and painted it her favorite color, mint green. There’s harmony everywhere.

AJ and Gwen’s flat is also filled with books. They’re arranged neatly on shelves and tables, and in stacks like stalagmites across the floor. Their collection mainly consists of nonfiction and poetry (Gwen) and graphic novels and comic book anthologies (AJ). A book on an end table catches Dan’s eye.  _ Good Ghost: Tales of Benevolent Spirits.  _ Maybe she’ll ask to borrow it sometime.

AJ drops the pamphlet into her lap. “Here ya go.”

HOUSE OF WHEELS presents QUEER LIGHTS! an LGBT+ SKATE NIGHT, it declares, in rainbow letters above a photo of a diverse selection of people having a gay old time.

“There’s a roller rink in London?” she asks.

“There are multiple roller rinks and discos in London. You’d be surprised what you might find when you go outside.”

“So this is where we’re going?”

“They host this event every month. It’s really fun. The music is all by queer artists and at the end of the night there’s a drag show. All on wheels, of course,” says Gwen. “We’ve been a couple times.”

Dan feels a sort of low-level electricity start to buzz through her. There’s something magical in the idea. Going to a roller rink on its own has a certain appeal, but making it gay? That elevates the experience to another plane. She flips through the pamphlet to find more photos. Two people joined by the hands are frozen mid-spin, multicolored lights painted on their smiling faces. Another person in a sequined ball gown slides with one lace-gloved hand on the ground, the electric blue curls of their towering wig billowing up like crashing waves.

“I don’t get why you had to keep this a secret.”

“Isn’t it more fun that way? Isn’t it  _ thrilling _ ?”

Dan glances over at Phyl, who’s been quiet the whole time.

“Are you alright?”

Phyl casts a timid glance at Dan and says quietly, “I’m not very good at…things that require balance.”

“You’re very good at being gay, though.” She smiles and pats Phyl’s knee.

“That’s okay,” says AJ, leaning over the back of the sofa to meet Phyl’s eyes. “There’s always lots of wall-huggers there. Little Bambis taking their first steps.”

Dan’s not sure how well she’s going to manage either. But if they stick together, they’ll survive.

“We should leave soon,” says Gwen, rising.

After four separate trips to the bathroom, they gather at the door, ready to don their coats.

Gwen and AJ are both wearing button-up shirts. Gwen’s is a light blue denim with long sleeves and little daisies embroidered all over it, and AJ’s is a loud Hawaiian print. Dan looks around at the others and down at herself and wonders if they should all be wearing something a little more glitzy.

AJ laughs as she shrugs on her heavy bomber jacket. “You know, what with our height disparity, you two are going to look like mums taking their adopted children on a little outing.”

She’s not wrong. Dan is just over six feet tall, Phyl just under. Meanwhile, AJ is about 5’1” on a good day and Gwen clocks in around 5’5”.

“Only if you behave yourselves. Naughty children have to stay home.”

“There won’t be any actual kids there,” says Gwen, wrapping a long scarf around her neck. “It’s 18 plus.”

They head out into the night. They take a cab, an indulgence that AJ keeps referring to as a limousine. Phyl sits beside Dan and slides her little finger under one of the frayed strips of black denim stretched across Dan’s thigh. Dan’s not sure she even knows she’s done it. A touch that would feel like so much before they started dating is now just a mindless little gesture of familiarity. The finger is cold against Dan’s skin, but she doesn’t tell her to move it.

The outside of House of Wheels isn’t impressive. It’s just a brick building squeezed between more brick buildings. When they get out of the cab and approach the door, Dan sees that there’s an arrow pointing down a flight of stairs. The rink is underground. She can hear a bassline rising up to meet them. Her heart starts beating in tune with it.

AJ leads the way and Dan follows at the end, after Phyl. She places a reassuring hand on her back, because she’s knows Phyl is uneasy. She wants to have fun tonight, but more than that, she wants Phyl to have fun.

When they enter House of Wheels, Dan is immediately struck by the thought that this place is the closest thing to a house of worship she’s entered since she was forced to go to church as child. Not in a somber or contemplative sense, but in reveling, giving praise kind of way.

People spin and race and glide across the rink’s smooth floor. Others lean against the walls, resting or clinging on for dear life. The song currently playing is both familiar and unfamiliar at once. Like it’s the language of her people, but not a story she’s heard before. When she gets home she needs to find out who the artist is so she can devour their entire discography.

Rainbow spotlights aim at a disco ball hanging like a moon over everyone’s heads. The fragmented reflections twirl and dance alongside the people.

AJ and Gwen immediately head toward the rental counter, ready to get their wheels on and hit the floor.

Dan turns to Phyl and takes her hand.

“I feel a bit sick,” says Phyl, frowning as she looks all around at the dizzying display of color, light, and movement.

As much as Dan wants to get out there and get sucked up by the energy, she doesn’t want to go without Phyl. She looks around and sees some tables where people are sitting and eating.

“How about we sit down?”

They make their way over to a table. From there Dan still has a perfect view of the rink. She can see AJ and Gwen skating side by side, drifting in and out of each other’s space but never colliding.

“I’m sorry,” says Phyl.

“Sorry for what?”

“We just arrived and I’m already ruining the fun. You can go if you’d like. I don’t mind.”

Dan rolls her eyes and smiles. “You’re not ruining anything. And I want to stay with you. Besides, like you said, we just arrived. It’s a little early to be acting like the night’s wasted.”

So they sit and watch the action for a while. Dan is living for the playlist. Every time she recognizes a song she feels a sense of accomplishment. Phyl eases up and soon she’s smiling as she watches people and bops to the music. Dan’s about to ask her if she’d like to get some food, when she speaks.

“I think I’m ready. Let’s get out there.”

Dan appraises her. She has a look of fierce determination on her face. Dan loves that this woman who faces ghosts head-on has to summon all her courage to step into a roller rink.

They head over to the rental counter. The person currently manning it is dressed in a purple rabbit fursuit. Dan can only imagine how terribly hot they must be.

The rabbit speaks. “Skates or blades?”

Dan looks up at the rows of quads and inlines. AJ and Gwen have opted for skates, which feels slightly more appropriate for the vibe and aesthetic of the night. But Dan has a vague memory of falling backward onto her ass while wearing skates as a child, and that’s an experience she doesn’t want to repeat.

“Blades.”

“Yes. Blades,” Phyl parrots. Dan know she’s just going along with her.

The rabbit asks for their shoe sizes next, and then turns around and locates exactly what they need with impressive speed.

“They’re free tonight,” they explain. “Just give me your shoes as collateral. They’ll go into the little cubby and you’ll get them back when you leave.”

Dan and Phyl remove their shoes and hand them over. The rabbit puts them in the cubbies marked 35 and 36, and then hands them little chips with those numbers on them.

“Safe travels,” they say, and Dan is sure that behind those large cartoonish eyes, a human eye just winked.

They walk over to the edge of the rink in their socks, and sit down on one of the padded benches to put on their rollerblades. Dan does up Phyl’s buckles for her. She stands up and wobbles. She’s uncertain at first but her wheels are pretty steady on the carpet. She turns around to look at Phyl, still seated.

Phyl stands up. For a moment she’s still, eyes wide, and then she falls back down onto the bench.

Dan laughs and reaches out for both her hands, hauling her to her feet. Phyl leans on her heavily, making it more difficult for Dan to keep her own balance. But she manages.

Together they make their way to the actual rink.

“Are you ready? Hold onto the wall and I’ll be right next to you.”

“I’m a newborn baby giraffe. You are the zookeeper teaching me to walk, as I am an orphan.”

“Alright, dark.”

They step out onto the smoother surface. Dan finds her balance quickly, like the ability to skate was just lying dormant inside her for years. Phyl holds unto the wall, moving forward one tiny slide at a time. As much as Dan would love to gather speed, see how well she can actually do, she stays by Phyl’s side. She skates forward a little ways sometimes, but always turns around to come back.

There’s a moment of silence while one song fades out, and then another begins and people all across the floor start screaming, spinning and jumping around. Dan wishes she knew the song. She vows to memorize every beat by its end.

Phyl only has one hand on the wall now, and she’s moving faster. Up ahead, Dan can see another person clinging to the wall, and going slower than Phyl. When they reach them, they’ll either have to wait, or Phyl will have to let go and skate around them.

Phyl must realize this too. She looks at Dan and reaches out a hand. Dan nods and takes it. Phyl starts to ease away from the wall, until only her fingertips are touching it. Then she let’s go and she’s skating beside Dan.

A few strides in and she starts to tilt. Dan widens her stance and throws and arm around her waist to steady her. Phyl wraps her arm around Dan’s waist and soon enough they synchronize their strides. They go slow.

After one lap of the entire rink, Phyl gains the confidence to skate on her own. She can’t go as fast as Dan, but she doesn’t fall. Dan circles around her, racing forward but always coming back.

A lot of the people out there are skating casually like them, but some people are performing tricks the likes of which Dan never expected to see outside of movies or music video choreography.

Gwen goes by them, skating backward with her braids flying. She does a 360 jump like it’s nothing. It’s the most graceful, athletic thing Dan’s ever seen her do, and it makes her wonder what other hidden talents she possesses. AJ follows after her, skating forward with long, easy strides. They join hands and spin each other around.

Dan turns to Phyl and Phyl beams her a bright, beautiful, contagious smile. She’s glowing. The disco ball above them makes light dance across her face, but it’s not just that. Light seems to come from within her. Dan can see it shining from her eyes, from the dewy skin of her forehead and the flush on her cheeks. And she can feel it, like a tumbling ball of warmth in her stomach, ever-growing and always in joyful motion.

That’s the moment when Dan knows for sure. She’s in love with Phyl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading and/or kudosing/commenting/reblogging/vibing/absorbing the words into ur bloodstream!!
> 
> [ reblog on tumblr ](https://velvetnautilus.tumblr.com/private/190066388515/tumblr_lByGg83PDX0DtfHjS)


	6. Chapter 6

Dan is standing on a lakeshore. She scans the horizon. It’s tilted, as if the whole world is askew, but she’s steady on her feet. The water is dark and still, like a wide swipe of paint across a sheet of paper. The sky is a light sepia and the sand beneath her feet is white.

Her eyes catch on an anomaly in the frozen scene. Out there in the water, something bobs up and down. She closes her eyes and when she opens them again, her vision is clearer. She zooms in on the mystery and when it breaches the surface, she sees a pale face and hair as black as the water.

It’s Phyl. She’s drowning.

Dan races toward the water. It’s either much farther away than it looks, or she’s a much slower runner than she thought. When she reaches it, there’s no gradual decline. She’s submerged up to her chin within seconds. She doesn’t remember how to swim. Her limbs feel strange, loose and disjointed beneath the water. She can’t see them but she feels like they’re not where they should be.

Somehow she’s able to move forward, despite not understanding the mechanics of it. Her vision’s gone blurry, and Phyl’s hair blends in with the water, her skin with the sky. But there’s a tether, a pulse that pulls her in the right direction. When she reaches Phyl she extends her unfamiliar limbs, wraps herself around her, and lifts her so her head is fully above water. Phyl’s face is peaceful—no lines of tension or evidence of physical suffering. She almost appears to be sleeping.

The swim back to land is shorter. They skip through space, like they’re in an animation with frames missing. They’re a few meters away, and then the next moment they’re up on the sand, and Dan is laying Phyl down.

Phyl gets up on her hands and knees. She coughs, water spurting out of her mouth. Dan kneels beside her and rubs her back. She’s experiencing an overwhelming, almost euphoric sense of relief.

But the water keeps coming. It turns the white sand into mud, a circle of shadow spreading out to surround them. Phyl eventually stops coughing but the flow doesn’t cease. Her eyes roll back in her head as her mouth runs like a faucet.

The relief is gone, replaced by a time bomb ticking away in Dan’s stomach. She puts a hand over Phyl’s mouth, trying to keep the water in. It sprays out between her fingers.

_ Try harder. Listen. _

Dan looks up and sees a person standing over her and Phyl. The sun’s behind them and Dan can’t see their face. Their voice is distorted, almost mechanical.

“Listen to what?” she asks.

_ It’s not you, it’s me _ .

“What?”

The figure disappears, evaporating into the sky. Dan looks around in every direction, but she and Phyl are alone on the beach.

Phyl tries to talk, but it just comes out as gurgles, as the water gushes from her mouth without reprieve. She raises her hand and points at her mouth.

“I don’t know how to stop it!”

Phyl shakes her head and points more insistently. She makes a fist and shakes it at her face.

“I don’t understand!”

They’re sitting in a deep puddle, the water rising around them, pushing the sand down to form the bottom of a pond. Phyl reaches out and grabs Dan arm. She folds Dan’s fingers into a fist and then pulls it toward her face. It’s almost like she’s asking Dan to punch her in the mouth, but that can’t be right. And Dan would never do it.

“Inside,” she manages to choke out.

Phyl’s face starts to stretch out, jaw dropping like a lump of putty, widening her mouth. In the back of her mouth, hidden behind tongue and teeth, there’s a light flickering on and off.

Dan sticks her fist into Phyl’s mouth, the water still flowing out around it. She reaches down deeper and deeper, into the endless abyss of Phyl’s throat, until her hand is stopped by something. It’s soft on the outside, but firm when she pushes on it. She can’t tell where exactly the water is coming from. She tries to grip the object, to move it in any way. Whatever it is, she needs to get it out of Phyl.

She just about has it. She feels it shift in the tight, slippery tube, and she’s able to slide her thumb and forefinger around opposing sides. Now she just needs to carefully pull it out.

Phyl’s jaw clamps shut, her teeth sinking into Dan’s arm. Dan cries out in pain and drops the obstruction. It bursts into flames, burning her trapped hand.

The water has stopped, but Dan is crying now, trying to pull her arm out. Phyl’s eyes are closed. She looks peaceful again.

A shadow falls over them and Dan looks up. The blurry figure is back. They lean over but Dan still can’t see their features.

_ Better luck next time _ , they say, then slap her hard across the face. Everything goes black.

Dan opens her eyes. She’s lying in bed, body still paralyzed by fear. She breathes in short, stuttering gasps. Slowly she catches her breath, her body unclenches, and her eyes adjust to the darkness in the room. She can see the back of Phyl’s head on the pillow in front of her, and her body gently rising and falling as she breathes. At first Dan is confused as to where she is and why Phyl’s there, but then she remembers that Phyl stayed the night.

It was just a dream. Everything is fine. She reaches out to touch Phyl, just to be sure. She intends for it to be a soft touch, but ends up pushing Phyl’s shoulder with enough force that she stirs and rolls over, squinting at Dan.

“Wuz wrong?” she mumbles, closing her eyes. Dan could just not say anything, and she’d be back asleep in a few minutes.

“Nothing. Just a bad dream.”

“Mmm. Bout what?”

Dan runs a hand over the undamaged skin of her other hand and arm. No bites, no burns.

“I don’t remember.”

Phyl nods against her pillow. “That’s good.” She falls back asleep.

Dan rolls onto her back and stares up at the ceiling. That was one of the most intense dreams she’s had in a while. It wasn’t so much the visuals, but the sensations. She keenly felt the sand between her toes, the cold water gushing out of Phyl’s mouth. Phyl’s teeth sinking in deep. The heat of the unseen flames. She flexes the fingers of that unburned hand and breathes in through her nose and out through her mouth. 

She doesn’t want to get out of bed, but she doesn’t want to sleep either, lest she end up in another nightmare. So she lays in limbo, staring upward, eyes tracing a thin crack in the ceiling. Despite her best efforts, she eventually loses the fight against sleep.

If she has any other dreams, she doesn’t remember them when she wakes up.

Dan putters about the flat for several hours before Phyl wakes up and joins her. Phyl is not quite human this morning, seeming more like a cave beast in need of a sweet caffeinated elixir. She drags her feet across the floor, blanket wrapped around her shoulders, and drops down into a chair like a puppet whose strings have been unceremoniously cut.

“Coffee time?” asks Dan, knowing the answer will be yes.

“No…maybe some water.”

Dan stares. “No coffee?”

Phyl shakes her head and makes a grumbly sound. The hair on the back of her head is all bunched up, thin black strands tangling into a rat’s nest. Dan wants to grab a comb and untangle it. She has an itch to tidy her up. Instead, she fills a glass with cold water from the tap and sets it down on the table in front of Phyl. Phyl’s hands emerge from the blanket, pale fingers wrapping around the glass and lifting it to her lips to take the tiniest sip.

“How about some pancakes? I could make pancakes. Would you like some pancakes?”

The idea comes to Dan out of nowhere. Sure, Phyl likes pancakes, but she also likes coffee, and has already turned her nose up at that.

“Pancakes? Pancakes?” Phyl mimics her. “No, actually, my stomach kind of hurts. Probably still mad at me for all the ice cream.” She grimaces and clutches the glass tighter.

“Ah yes, the forbidden dairy,” says Dan, searching her face for evidence of pain. Mostly she just looks tired.

Dan watched Phyl eat nearly a pint of the stuff last night, only for Phyl to inform her, after the damage was done, that she’s lactose intolerant. Which nearly sent Dan into a crisis as she recalled all the times she stood by and watched Phyl consume dairy, completely unaware.

When she reaches the bottom of her glass, Phyl has a bit more life in her.

“Any big plans for the day?” she asks. “I’d stay, but I have so much work to do.” She groans and rubs her eyes beneath her glasses, pushing the frames all out of place.

Phyl is a freelancer like Dan, working in video editing. She mostly works on online content—videos for personal and business sites, YouTube videos, training and promotional material. Ghost hunting doesn’t pay the bills.

“I have therapy in about an hour. Depending on how that goes, I might get some work done tonight or not.”

Phyl nods, studying her empty glass and running a finger along the rim “I need a shower,” she says, rising from the table. She kisses Dan on the cheek and then disappears down the hall. Dan listens to her bedroom door open, then the bathroom door open and close. Soon she can hear the hiss of the shower. She thinks back to when she first met Phyl, and they sat in that bathroom together. Such a surreal experience. Phyl had climbed into the tub and let the spray drench her, welcoming the ghost…That makes Dan think of the water pouring out of Phyl’s mouth in her dream and she needs to push the whole thing out of her head immediately.

She finds her phone and gives herself up to the internet for distraction.

Dan drags her feet on the way to therapy. She hasn’t been in over a month. They’re not really on the strictest of schedules at the moment. But sometimes when Dan waits too long in between sessions, everything builds up inside of her until there’s so many things she needs to address that she doesn’t know what to tackle first.

The waiting room of her therapist’s office has pale blue walls and gray and white chevron patterned chairs. An array of magazines are fanned out across a low table in the center of the seating area, and little end tables by the chairs house informative pamphlets about various mental disorders and other causes of stress. A noise machine plays the sound of a babbling brook, muffling any voices from beyond each door. Two other therapists operate out of the same office. Dan has never seen either of them, despite going here for over a year now. It’s become a sort of private, running joke for her, that they don’t actually exist, or are up to something nefarious.

She waits for a few minutes and then Allison steps out of her office.

“Hi, Dan,” she says, smiling. “Come on in.” Dan gets up and walks past the petite woman into the room. Being so much taller than her therapist has always made her feel a little off balance, but once they’re both sitting down it won’t matter.

Allison settles into her chair and Dan flops down on the couch, stretching out. The first time Dan had lain on her back like that, she’d been embarrassed. It seemed like such a stereotypical thing to do, to stare up at the ceiling while recounting one’s woes and neuroses, a shrink to her right nodding and taking notes. But there was something freeing about it. Something less confrontational and formal. Dan didn’t attend a lot of sleepovers as a child, but she went to enough that she remembers the spell that would fall over the room when everyone was in bed or sleeping bags, lying on their backs in the dark. The truths that would slip out, the vulnerabilities exposed. 

Of course, it’s not dark in Allison’s office, but now and then, when she’s really struggling, Dan will close her eyes and find it easier to speak. Sometimes, lying here, divulging her deepest truths, feels like some force in the ceiling is reaching down and pulling knives from her belly. It hurts like hell, but it feels good to be free of them, to give the wounds a chance to close and heal.

Today Dan has her eyes open. She settles into the couch cushions, letting them support her weight, and as she gazes up at the familiar ceiling tiles, her brain switches into therapy-mode.

“You know the girl I told you about? The one I’m dating?” 

“Yes. Phyl, right? How are things?” Allison doesn’t miss a beat. She’s used to Dan dropping right into discussion without any preceding chit-chat.

“Good. Great. I really like her.” She pauses, unsure of how to continue.

“That’s wonderful, Dan. I’m happy for you.”

Dan smiles weakly. “Thank you.”

Allison laughs. “But I know that’s not all you wanted to say.”

Dan’s hands have been clasped on her stomach; now they part so she can fuss with the fabric of her shirt.

“It’s just…I’ve been having these dreams lately. Like these incredibly vivid, lucid dreams…”

“Okay.”

“And they’re usually about Phyl. About Phyl getting hurt. Or me getting hurt, and it just feels so  _ real _ like last night I…” She stops talking, once again unsure of how to continue. Sometimes Dan can’t shut up during her sessions. Once she gets started she won’t stop. This is not one of those times.

“How often are you having them?”

“I guess once or twice a week. At least that I can recall.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Dan can see Allison nodding thoughtfully.

“Well, I’m not going to sit here and pretend I can analyze your dreams for you and tell you exactly what they mean. But if you want to talk about them in more detail we certainly can.”

“No, maybe not today. Sorry, I honestly don’t even know why I brought it up.” 

Dan doesn’t want to relive any of it by going through it right then.

“It sounds like it’s causing you distress. And like I told you, I’m not going to analyze your dreams, but I know Phyl and your relationship with her is very important to you. And perhaps you’re worried about something happening to jeopardize that. Not Phyl actually getting hurt, but that bond you value so much.”

“But that’s the thing…I’m not worried about us. About our relationship. I know this sounds fake but…I’m not insecure. And I think things are going well.”

“That doesn’t sound fake at all, Dan. You should be proud of yourself. And I certainly didn’t mean to imply that there was anything wrong between the two of you—“

“Oh, no. No, of course you didn’t. I know.”

Dan kind of wishes she could bring up the whole ghost thing. Because there are a lot of things going on in her life right now that she can’t discuss without talking about the ghosts. The things troubling her, the things she wishes she could work through with a professional, outside party…but as open-minded as Allison is, Dan knows she can’t say anything about it. 

They start going over ways for Dan to improve her sleep hygiene and move onto other topics, but thoughts of ghosts and dreams linger in the back of Dan’s mind.

Dan checks her phone in the waiting room before leaving. She has a text from her mum, which she doesn’t bother opening right away. It’s probably about Christmas, which is barreling toward her without mercy. She also has a text from Phyl.

_ I need to talk to u pls call me _

Having just told her therapist she was feeling secure in her relationship, this text is a bit of punch in the gut. She stops walking, frozen in the middle of the room. But she’s been trained for this (mainly by the woman whose company she just left). She needs to focus and remember what she’s learned in therapy.  _ I need to talk to u  _ isn’t necessarily code for  _ you’ve done something unforgivable and now I hate you and we need to break up. _

Just because Phyl needs to talk to Dan, doesn’t mean it’s  _ about _ Dan. Or about  _ them  _ together. It might just be that Phyl needs to talk about something else, and Dan is the one she wants to talk about it with.

Dan waits until she’s safely back home before calling Phyl, just in case it is something bad. She’s not in the mood for a public breakdown.

She takes her coat off slowly and hangs it by the door, and lines her shoes up neatly beside the others. She carefully deposits her bag on the floor by the sofa, and then goes down the hall to her room, where she sits on her bed, gathering her courage and her pillows around her.

Phyl picks up on the first ring.

“Hi,” her voice is stiff and quiet.

“Hey, is everything alright? You kind of scared me.”

“Sorry, I’m fine. It’s just. Michael and James are quitting.”

Those were not the words Dan was expecting. She ran through all kinds of possibilities in her mind on the way home, but none of them included James or Michael.

“What? What do you mean?”

“They’re leaving Happy Phantoms. I think they’re going to start their own business. James said it’s because we have differences in our approach and goals. And also their research is being impeded by me not letting them closer to the sites of the ghost activity.” She sounds like she’s reading off an index card for a presentation—monotone but nervous, rushing through the words.

Anger heats Dan’s face and tightens her jaw.

“Fuck him. Fucking dick.”

Phyl sighs.

“He’s right, though,” she says, sounding more like herself.

“We don’t need them. We can do this without them. All they did was carry stuff and drive anyway.”

Phyl is silent.

“Right? We can carry stuff. We can—I can drive.”

Dan hasn’t driven since she was a teenager, and never a large van, but in this moment she’d commit to learning to fly a plane, if necessary.

Phyl sighs again, but it’s a different kind of sigh. The first was shuddery and low, laced with resignation. This one is almost fond, almost contains the shadow of a laugh. 

“Come over tonight?” she asks.

“I thought you had work to do,” says Dan.

“I already did it.”

“All of it?”

“Enough of it.”

“I dunno,” says Dan, teasing. “I don’t want to distract you…”

“I need a distraction. I’m inconsolable. Come console me.”

Phyl may be joking around now, but Dan knows James and Michael’s sudden departure is still hurting her. Dan’s own feelings on the matter aren’t yet formed. Will she miss them? Will they all ever see each other again? What will ghost hunting be like without them?

What she does know is that she also has work to do. But she wants to see Phyl.

“Alright, here’s the deal. I’ll bring my laptop and we can both do our work.”

“You are the absolute best,” says Phyl.

Dan has to end the call soon after, because the unselfconscious depth of sincerity in Phyl’s voice stops up her own words. 

_ We can do this _ , she thinks.  _ We can carry this without them. We can carry the whole thing together. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! 
> 
> [ reblog on tumblr ](https://velvetnautilus.tumblr.com/private/190291838590/tumblr_1BFqD1wrScdQWUEVl)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello
> 
> 1\. thank you so much for all the comments on the last chapter!
> 
> 2\. a minor character in this chapter mentions the sudden death of another character
> 
> 3\. the whole time i was writing this i kept thinking about that episode of arthur where he plays games on the family computer when he's not supposed to and ends up accidentally turning it off, except he thinks he's broken it. that has nothing to do with this chapter, but it is a scarier story.

“Are you sure it’s legal for us to be here?” asks Phyl, pushing the buggy along, as she and Dan follow their client down an unremarkable hallway.

“I’ve no idea about that, but I’m sure it could get me fired, so please be discreet. I need this job. I’m saving for uni.”

The carpet is beige patterned with rows of tiny green rectangles, spaced like bumper-to-bumper cars as far as the eye can see. Dan’s nerves are still shot from the drive over. Navigating the Mystery Machine through London was a nightmare. She felt like she was driving a tank. They’re not in the city proper anymore, but it’s still a compacted area. Dan is hoping once the job is done they can just keep driving until they leave the tyranny of cities altogether and enter countryside. Maybe abandon the van in a pasture somewhere.

It didn’t help that the whole time Phyl was sitting beside her making little noises of apprehension. After one especially sharp intake of breath, Dan snapped at her, and they spent at least ten minutes in tense silence.

The client’s name is Brian. He’s a young night security guard at a small business complex. The area of concern is an office on the third floor. Apparently things go awry at night. Computers turning on and displaying blue screens with jumbles of nonsense text, printers spitting out papers “with shapey symbols and colors.”

Brian doesn’t want to go to his supervisors, for fear he’ll be “laughed out of a job.” So he did a bit of googling and found his way to Happy Phantoms.

Every hour, Brian is supposed to do a tour of the whole building, popping into the 20-odd offices. He’ll be working his regular shift tonight, just ignoring one room.

There are a few security cameras in the building, but none in the office they’re headed to. Brian tells them it’s okay if they get spotted on a camera on their way there, because nobody checks the footage unless something happens. Something meaning a crime, disaster, or any inconvenience to the landlord. 

They file into the lift and each stand against a separate wall, the buggy in the center. Brian presses the button for the third floor and the lift creaks into life.

“I don’t have much ghost experience,” he says. “Except this one time in sixth form, me and three mates had a little party, you know, just some drinks at one of our houses…”

The lift reaches the second floor and the doors open onto the empty hallway. Brian presses the door close button and they start moving again.

“Anyway, we ended up pulling out the ouija, you know, just for a laugh. I don’t think any of us believed it. I know I didn’t. We couldn’t get it to say anything on its own. We just started messing around, you know, making it say stuff but being all obvious about it.”

They reach the third floor. The door opens and Brian steps out, turning left down the hall. Dan and Phyl follow behind while he continues his story.

“So we got bored of that and moved onto other pursuits, you know, and then we all passed out at some point. But the weirdest thing happened. The next morning, that wooden heart thing with the little window, you know, from the ouija—”

“The planchette,” says Dan.

“Right. That. The next morning it was laying on my mate Ricky’s chest, right over where his own heart’d be. We all swore we hadn’t moved it. He was a little shaken up, but I think we all supposed it was a prank one of the others just wasn’t owning to. Two days later he died. Popped a brain aneurysm nobody knew he had. I haven’t fucked with ghosts since.”

Dan and Phyl exchange a glance behind Brian’s back. They’re both trying to think of the most tactful thing to say. Dan knows it’s not the time to mention coincidences, and Phyl must know it’s not a good idea to talk about the observed habits and behaviors of ghosts.

“I’m sorry about your friend,” says Dan.

“Yes, very sorry.”

“Thanks,” says Brian, stopping in front of a door that looks like every other door, except the plaque besides this one reads Samuelson Networking Solutions “Well. Here it is.”

He holds open the door and Dan and Phyl go inside, leaving the buggy in the hall. The room is bland. The carpet is just plain beige with no rectangles, the kind of flat carpet that’s been further flattened by feet until it’s more like textured cardboard. The walls are a dusty white—the kind of white that proudly displays every stain.

There are long tables on two sides of the room, each portioned into six desk areas with computer monitors and rolling chairs. In the center of the room, six more desks are arranged in two pods. There’s a printer at the end of one of the long tables, and a huge copy machine against one of the other walls, along with a counter with a coffee machine, sink, and microwave. One pea green mug sits on the edge of the sink. Above the counter are two crooked cabinets and a nearly bare bulletin board. There are no signs or posters anywhere else around the room, and only a few pads of paper and cups of pens accent the desks. It’s like someone had been set dressing the room but forgot to finish up all the little details that make a place feel real. Did anybody actually work there? It’s like a ghost office, Dan thinks. Oh, she has to tell Phyl that one, she’ll love it…

“So, do you…need anything?” Brian asks. He’s watching them from the hall; he won’t enter the room.

“We’re good,” says Phyl, smiling at him. She points at the buggy. “Before I close the door, can you just push the buggy, so that it’s in a direct path from the doorway, but far enough back that we can still open the door?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Great,” says Dan, flashing her teeth as well. “Just go about your routine, but don’t come in here. Even if you hear anything weird.”

Brian holds up his hands. “I’m not setting foot in there.”

“Okay, Brian,” says Phyl. “We should probably get started. We’ll let you know when we’re done.”

Brian steps back from the door and starts maneuvering the buggy into position.

“This alright?”

Phyl gives him a thumbs up. “Perfect.”

“Good luck.” He waves and disappears down the hallway.

Dan shuts the door. She drops her backpack to the floor and kneels beside it, fishing out her headphones, which she hangs on the door handle.

Phyl walks around the room, hands behind her back. They haven’t brought the red lamp this time. Phyl’s reasoning behind the lamp is based on something she read online, about ghosts preferring red or warmer yellow light to cooler white or blue light. But in a room full of computer screens that doesn’t seem to matter. They’re planning on keeping the overhead fluorescents on as well.

And Phyl told Dan she uses the red light because she likes it. It seems to work well. But that doesn’t mean they  _ need  _ it.

“This feels almost prisonish, doesn’t it?” she says. “Or schoolish. Institutional is the proper word, I guess.”

Dan trails after her. “You could say…it’s kind of like a… _ ghost office _ .”

Phyl turns around, face blank. “What?”

“Like a ghost town. Ghost office. Because it looks like nobody works here.”

“ _ Oh _ , I get it. Good job.” She doesn’t laugh.

“Don’t  _ good job  _ me,” Dan grumbles, and then Phyl does laugh.

They fall silent after that, as they wander around. Phyl might be hearing something, but for Dan it’s deep quiet. The carpet muffles their footsteps, all the tech is off, and they’re the only two people in that room and on that entire floor. There’s not even an annoying clock ticking away on the wall. There’s no clock at all, which is another missing detail that bothers Dan. It’s not that a clock is necessary, when everyone who works there has a screen with the time on it right in front of them. It just adds to the atmosphere of absence.

In the silence, Dan’s head fills up with thoughts. Phyl bends over a desk, pulling a red pen out of a cup and rolling it between her fingers. Dan watches the back of her head for a moment, then swallows and speaks.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you in the van.”

Phyl freezes, pen in hand. “Huh? When?” The ignorance is clearly faked. She puts the pen back in the cup and resumes her tour around the office.

Dan stays put and watches Phyl orbit. “On the way here. I told you to shut up or I’d kick you out.”

“Oh, yeah. It’s fine. It doesn’t matter.” She waves her hand as if banishing both the apology and the conversation.

“Yes, it does. I shouldn’t have been an ass about it.” Dan crosses her arms. She wishes Phyl would look up or turn around.

“Really, Dan. I don’t care.” She shakes her head. There’s something dismissive about it. Like she thinks Dan’s being silly. But Dan is trying to express genuine remorse.

“Well, I care!” Her voice is louder than she wants it to be, in that hatefully quiet room.

Phyl finally looks at her. She blinks and cocks her head to the side. “Are you mad at me because I’m not mad at you?”

“No, I’m not mad at you…I just wish you wouldn’t do that thing where you pretend everything’s fine just to avoid a conflict—”

“What do you mean,  _ that thing?  _ Since when is that a thing I do? You can’t just make shit up about me!”

There’s an edge to Phyl’s words that Dan’s never heard before, and a look on her face that Dan’s never been on the receiving end of. Sure, she’s seen Phyl annoyed, and dealt with her early morning irritability, but nothing like this. Nothing so clearly directed at her.

Her perspective zooms out and she takes in the situation. She sees her and Phyl, standing in the middle of a haunted office, on edge and getting heated. It’s uncomfortable. It’s new…

“I think this is our first fight.” She says the words almost with a sense of wonder, the thought still forming as she expresses it.

“Oh.” Phyl’s face softens.

They look at each other warily. Dan’s not sure who breaks first, but they both start to laugh. Dan let’s her arms uncross and her shoulders drop.

“What a stupid thing to fight about,” says Phyl. “What even are we fighting about?”

“You mean what  _ were  _ we fighting about. We’re not fighting anymore.”

“Says who?” There’s a smile in her eyes.

“You’re the worst,” says Dan, tentatively. Anxiety has begun to soften its grip on her heart, but she’s still a bit tense. “I really am sorry, though.”

“Okay,” says Phyl, shifting her feet nervously. “I’m sorry too.”

Dan steps closer to her and extends her hand. “Let’s shake on it. A remorseful handshake.”

Phyl looks at her hand like it’s a dead fish and then up at her face with an incredulous expression—sky-high brows and twisted mouth. 

“Are you serious,” she says flatly.

“Shake my damn hand.”

Phyl rolls her eyes and smiles. She places her hand in Dan’s. Dan smiles back and squeezes her hand hard, until Phyl giggles and squirms.

Phyl pulls and Dan follows, only dropping her hand when they’re standing toe to toe.

Dan’s eyes drop to Phyl’s mouth. “Can I give you an apology kiss too?”

Phyl gasps and steps back, eyes wide with exaggerated shock. She lays a hand on her chest.

“No kissing in front of the ghosts!”

As if on cue, the monitors all around them begin to light up, starting with the one closest to the door on the left wall and then traveling the perimeter of the room. When the one closest to the door on the right has finished, the monitors on the desks in the center of the room all light up in unison. The coordination of it is impressive.

They start to flash on and off without rhythm, black screens alternating with blue covered in endless white text. The fans in the towers tucked under the desks whir in protest, disc drives popping in and out.

The small printer and the copy machine awaken next, letting out high-pitched cries and low groans. They begin to eject sheets of paper, not at a frantic pace, but steadily and without pause.

They look at each other in speechless surprise and then separate to investigate. Dan steps to one of the desks and bends to read some of the words on the screen as they pass by.

_ Hfblwrguybdkjgn;lkameqg GGGGGGGGGGGGGG y6r1g351e65f6wfg _

_ Dsfbekj;g, d,.ag,g,g,,g,gggggggWWEERRTFGSHDHDDHGJJGJGNb……,,,hhhhh _

She doubts there’s a message hidden in it, and if there is, she won’t be able to find it anyway. The jumbled stream of letters, numbers, and punctuation never stops, and the ghost—or whatever energy is manipulating the machine—is a fast typist.

She walks around the room and sees that the rest of the computers are behaving in the same way. A string of text on one screen makes her heart stop momentarily—

_ gdhfhsbflskadDDD///cccDDDfDAN dblfnakfdfq,qq _

—but it soon disappears as new text claims its space on the screen. The familiar arrangement of three letters is meaningless. Phyl comes over to her, clutching papers in her arms. She hands one to Dan. It’s crumpled from her grip, but still warm. Dan recognizes the orderly rows of rectangles and parallelograms.

“They’re just alignment pages,” says Phyl. “Like when you put a new ink cartridge in and print them to make sure it’s all, well, aligned.”

“I am familiar with the concept,” Dan replies.

“Good for you.”

Her mouth goes slack then, eyes drifting off, head tilting down. She’s listening.

She gets down on the floor, lying on her stomach with her palms and one ear pressed to the carpet. Dan joins her without being asked, turning her head to face her and pressing her own ear to the floor. She tries not to think about all the filthy soles that have tread there. The only thing she can hear is the blood pulsing through her head.

“What is it?” she asks.

Phyl narrows her eyes in concentration, pressing firmly against the floor with her hands. “It’s all alive in there, beneath the floor. I can feel it.”

“Alive?”

Phyl smiles. “I guess I shouldn’t say that about ghosts. There’s just so much energy…it’s hard to think of a better way to describe it.”

Dan wishes she could feel that energy. She wishes she could hear whatever Phyl is hearing, that makes her press her head into the carpet as if maybe she can pass through the floor if she tries hard enough. But Dan knows what Phyl means, when she says it’s hard to not ascribe the idea of life to the ghosts. All around them electronics have been resurrected from their slumber, and it’s odd to think something dead could do that.

Phyl starts to crawl along the floor, lowering her ear back to the carpet now and then. Dan raises her head and props her chin on her hands, watching.

“I’m trying to trace the sound back to where it’s loudest,” says Phyl.

Dan tries to nod but sort of just rolls her chin against the back of her hands. Phyl isn’t even looking at her. She worries speaking aloud might throw off Phyl’s efforts.

Phyl crawls beneath one of the desks in the middle of the room and stops. Her eyes widen. Dan holds her breath.

“This is it!” says Phyl. She starts to sit up.

“Watch—”

Phyl bangs her head against the underside of the desk, and Dan winces at the loud thump and her surprised squeak.

“Are you okay?” She rises, walks over to the desk, and kneels down beside her. Phyl crawls out from under, one hand pressed to the top of her head.

“I think I have a concussion.”

“You buffoon. Let me see.”

Phyl moves her hand and dips her head so Dan can examine it.

Dan doesn’t see anything alarming. She gingerly touches Phyl’s scalp to feel for a lump. There’s nothing there. Knowing Phyl’s body, she’ll develop a bruise, but it’s nothing to worry about.

“Ow!” Phyl reaches up to swat Dan’s hand away.

“I barely touched you.”

“You’re a brute.”

Satisfied that Phyl isn’t on the verge of death, Dan stands back up. The monitor on the chosen desk is behaving just like the others, churning out endless text. Phyl gets up and leans over her shoulder.

“Maybe you should type something.”

“Why me?”

“Because you’re closer to the keyboard.”

Dan scoffs. She almost suggests they rock-paper-scissors for it, but then it occurs to her that she doesn’t really have any objections to doing it.

Dan’s fingers hover over the keys.

“What should I type?”

“I don’t know. Anything, I guess.”

Dan lowers her fingers and quickly types one word:  _ anything _

Phyl sighs.

The word shows up on the screen, if only briefly, amidst the never-ending stream of nonsense. Dan only sees it because instead of white, the text is black. Phyl smacks Dan’s arm four times in quick succession.

“Try it again!”

Dan begins to type again, more carefully this time to avoid typos. She intends to type  _ hi my name is dan _ but it ends up looking like this:

_ &&** _ ** _hi_ ** _ hfe1 _ ** _m_ ** _ mw _ ** _yname_ ** _ ^66$ _ ** _isda_ ** _ sh _ ** _n_ ** _ gdskj _

If it weren’t for the black color of her text, she wouldn’t know her typing had any effect at all.

“Maybe you should try. Being the ghost whisperer and all.”

Phyl bends around Dan and reaches for the keyboard. The second one of her fingers meets a key, the screen goes black, and the computer turns off entirely, all sounds of mechanical effort ceasing.

Phyl gasps and covers her mouth with her hands. “What have I done?”

Dan regards their reflection on the screen. All she can see is her face, and Phyl’s over her shoulder. There’s nothing behind them, and nothing in front of them but the monitor. And yet she can’t shake the prickly feeling of being watched.

Dan taps the space bar uncertainly. To her surprise, the computer jumps back to life, and the monitor lights up in blue again, the white text marching along the screen like it never stopped.

“Ooh!” says Phyl. “It likes you!”

Dan frowns, drawing back her hand. She’s not sure she likes that idea.

“Or it just  _ doesn’t _ like you.”

Phyl lets her chin drop to Dan’s shoulder. “At least you like me,” she mumbles. Dan doesn’t bother to confirm.

Suddenly the white text fades away like it’s being absorbed into the screen, leaving only the eye-searing blue behind. Then, black letters slowly rise up out of the blue and into the center of the screen.

** _anything hi my name is dan_ **

Phyl sucks in a breath and lifts her head. Dan can’t help but gasp loudly, startled by the appearance of her name. She calms a moment later when she realizes the screen is only showing the words she herself typed earlier. Which is still unsettling, but not as creepy as the thought of the ghost  _ knowing _ her name and deliberately typing it.

The printer lets out a timid beep and stops printing. The copy machine screams two times and stops as well.

Phyl darts over to the printer first.

“Out of paper.” She zips over to the copy machine. “Paper jam.”

Dan sits down, contemplating the six unchanging words. She looks up and sees that all the other screens have gone dark. It’s just her, her words, and this blue void.

“Hey, Dan,” says Phyl. Dan can hear her opening up the copy machine, looking for the obstruction in its innards. “You know what you do with a paper jam?”

“No, what?” Should she type something else? What would she type? Phyl should be the one doing this. Dan might fuck everything up.

“You spread it on some paper toast!”

“I can’t even look at you right now.”

Phyl says something else, but Dan is too absorbed in the screen to register it. Nothing is happening; the words have not changed. But the longer she stares, unblinking, the more she feels like there  _ is  _ something going on. The words aren’t moving about the screen, but they almost seem to be expanding and then shrinking—almost imperceptibly. Like they’re breathing in and out. Dan’s eyes must be playing tricks on her. She closes them, and when she opens them again, the words are gone.

“Shit,” she whispers. Her eyes were only closed for a few seconds, and she missed whatever happened. She closes them again, then reopens, hoping the words will have returned. No luck. Just blue.

“The surgery was a success,” Phyl calls to her from over by the copy machine. “Not that you care.”

Dan can hear something printing, just briefly.

“Oh!”

She tears her eyes away from the screen as Phyl comes bounding over, waving a piece of paper. She all but shoves it in Dan’s face.

“Look, look!”

Dan grabs it out of her hand so she can hold it steady at a reasonable reading distance. There’s only six words in a small font, centered in the middle of the page.

_ anyway hi my name is dan _

She looks from the paper to the wordless screen, and back down, and back up.

“What do you think it means?” asks Phyl, voice full of wonder

“What do  _ I  _ think it means?”

“Yeah, you were the one sitting here.”

_ Yeah, but you’re the fucking ghost girl _ , Dan almost says. But that’s not fair. Phyl can’t have an explanation for everything.

“Did it print anything else?”

“No, just this.”

Dan wiggles her fingers above the keyboard. Might as well…

She taps the spacebar and white text floods the screen.

_ Sdghsakjbieiiooooooo22@#4342fregg5t2... _

It fills up quickly, and just as before, the text flows without end.

Phyl grabs her shoulder. “Did you feel that?”

“Feel what?” All she feels is a mix of frustration and unease. She’s on the edge of something, some answer. She just needs a little push.

“It was like a static shock. Just this little wave of power. I can still feel it in the air…like an aura all around the computer.”

Dan sees a full sentence appear amidst the deluge of text and she taps eagerly at the screen to draw Phyl’s attention to it.

_ A problem has been detected and Windows has been shut down to prevent damage to your computer… _

Finally something normal. More familiar text appears, but it cycles by so quickly Dan can barely read it.

_ …disable or remove any newly installed hardware or software…shadowing…Select Safe Mode…STOP: 0x0000… _

“Maybe you should try turning it off and on again?”

“ _ Shhhh! _ ”

The creased paper with Dan’s message is lying on the desk beside the keyboard. Dan picks it up. It’s still warm. Warmer than it should be, like something alive. There was that contradiction again.

"How are you feeling?” she asks Phyl.

“Um…” Phyl runs her hands over her face, stretching the skin below her eyes to reveal the hidden pink lining of the sockets. She squishes her cheeks and frowns. “Claustrophobic?”

“Hearing anything?”

She covers her ears with her hands for a few seconds, then lets them fall away. “It’s like, if I concentrate, I can hear every little action going on in the computer. Every tiny technical bloop.”

Dan starts to form a plan. Her brain isn’t tuned to the ghost frequencies, but the gears still turn. She presses the print screen key. The text stops. Now what? She can’t open anything up to paste the screenshot. She waits for the text to leap back into motion, but it remains frozen. Then it fades away like before and a new message appears.

_ EXPEL SELECTED DATA: 30745agl12finC6? Press Y or N _

She can hear Phyl whispering the words as she reads them.

“I have an idea…”

“Uh oh.”

“I need you to go over to the copy machine, and wait for it to print, okay?”

“And what are you going to do?”

“I’m gonna press Y and expel some data.” Straight into Phyl’s mouth, hopefully.

Phyl’s eyes widen and she nods as her thoughts catch up to Dan’s.

“And by data, you mean—”

“Exactly.”

Phyl squeezes her shoulder and goes over to the copy machine. She stares it down.

“Alright, press it, Danny.”

Dan pushes her chair back and stands up. She taps the Y key and the copy machine begins to print. For a moment she just watches and listens to it gurgle. Phyl’s gaze is fixed, her lips parted, hands outstretched to catch a piece of paper or something else. Dan hurries to the door. She puts on her headphones and opens it outward, stepping into the hall to hold it for Phyl.

Dan doesn’t see if anything prints or not. All she sees is Phyl, white-eyed and expressionless, heading to the buggy. When Phyl leaves the office, Dan presses her headphones tight to her ears. She endures the sound.

Phyl looks up at her, still kneeling on the floor. “How did you know that would work?”

“I’m a genius,” she reaches out to help Phyl up.

She had no idea it would work. She’s still not sure if it did, or if it was just a well-timed coincidence. The whims and ways of ghosts don’t always make sense, especially not to Dan. Phyl follows her instincts, her powers, her “gift”. Dan’s just doing the best she can without all of that.

Phyl texts Brian, and they go to meet him in the security office on the ground floor. As she closes the door to the now unhaunted office behind them, Dan thinks that it looks deader than ever. The screens are all black and the printers are quiet. They’re just big hunks of plastic. She has a sudden urge to walk back into the room, pick up the green mug, and smash it against the counter. Or open the cabinets. Was there anything in them? She shakes her head and closes the door.

The cramped security office is brimming with life. The guards have taped photos up all over the walls and around the monitors, knick-knacks populate the spare desk space between piles of paper, and all the pens have the names of various businesses and banks printed on the sides. Brian has a half-eaten sandwich balanced dangerously close to the edge. There’s no windows, and the air smells appropriately stale.

They only stand in there for a moment, awkwardly facing Brian in his chair, before he suggests they talk out in the hall.

“It’s all done? It’s gone? That was a lot faster than I thought it’d be.”

Phyl gestures to the buggy. “It’s in there.”

Brian shifts away, eyeing it with suspicion. “It can’t get out, can it?”

“Not until we let it,” says Dan.

They talk final details and plans for payment. Phyl is giving Brian a special student discount rate, even though he’s not technically a student yet. There’s no such thing as a special student discount rate either, but Phyl plays around with things like that. They have a standard fee in mind, but Phyl sometimes charges less or more depending on circumstances.

Phyl asks Brian if there’s anywhere they can safely park the van for the rest of the night. Dan appreciates that she knows without asking that there's no way Dan’s driving back to London now.

“My mate’s got his own spot outside his building, but he’s away right now, so I reckon you could park there. But are you sleeping there? I’d offer, but my flat’s a bit small, and my flatmate is, you know.” He grimaces. “But it’s quite cold out.”

They assure him that sleeping in the van will be fine. It’s well insulated, and they have plenty of blankets to curl up in, and the heat of their bodies close together. Brian tells them the address so they can get directions. Mercifully, it’s only an estimated fifteen minutes away. Dan doesn’t want to go much farther right now.

They’re just about to leave when Brian stops them for one last question.

“You know all about ghosts, right? So, I was wondering, you know…if there’s any chance Ricky died because of what we did. You know, with the ouija board.”

“Definitely not,” says Phyl, firmly. She looks him in the eye, gaze unwavering.

“Okay, yeah…I thought. Thank you.” He nods and smiles faintly.

They exchange goodbyes and leave.

“Definitely not?” Dan asks, as they walk through the car park to the van. “Did you mean that?”

“I have no way of knowing if ghosts had anything to do with what happened. I wasn’t there. I doubt it, but I don’t know everything.”

“Then why did you—”

“Because it wasn’t his fault, and I didn’t think he should keep feeling so guilty.”

Dan swallows her responses. Her head’s all mixed up, but Phyl’s right, and a little lie like that doesn’t matter.

The drive to Brian’s friend’s place isn’t so bad. It’s short and the streets are clear. They only pass a few other drivers, despite the night being young. But Dan’s definitely going to miss being chauffeured around.

They eat dinner in the van—food they packed earlier before they left London—and enjoy a private evening behind tinted windows on a quiet street. Dan’s not going to miss having the men around in the van all the time.

This was their last case before Phyl heads up to Isle of Man to spend Christmas and the end of the year with her family. On Christmas Eve Dan will be making her own journey to Wokingham for a much briefer visit. Dan wants to drink up their time together, let it fill her and keep her warm in the days ahead. She knows they’ll still be able to communicate when they’re apart, but she won’t be able to reach out and touch Phyl, to seek that grounding, tactile comfort when she needs it most.

When Phyl falls asleep Dan takes out her phone and skims through some of the info Maddie sent her for the umpteenth time. (Maddie is who her Beyond the Veil confidant has become in her mind. She has no idea if that’s maddieex57’s name. She wonders what name, if any, they’ve ascribed to djh91.)

There’s blog posts. Archived webpages long since abandoned. Forum posts from Beyond the Veil—some of which Dan’s already read, some she missed—and from other forums. There’s even some links to youtube videos, one of which is a twenty-five minute tutorial on how to knit a “ghost cozy.” The type of yarn you use and the material of the needles is of utmost importance. Dan has no intention of learning to knit, but she watches the whole video because she wants to eat up every bit of information she can. (Also the girl giving the tutorial is very attractive.)

There’s so much to take in. So many methods and means.

Soak a natural canvas bag in rabbit’s blood. Dip strips of burlap into red mud and use them to form a bowl. Wrap the hands in fern leaves adhered with honey. Melt these metals together to form an alloy, mixing in a bit of saliva for good luck. Play this song backward. Play two songs at once. Play this specific song on a flute. On a piano. Sing. Recite this incantation. Make a circle on the floor with fresh charcoal. Think positive thoughts. Think negative thoughts. Masturbate. Consume raw eggs and honeycomb. Dance until you pass out from exhaustion. Carve a sigil into a river stone and leave it in the room with the ghost for a minimum of five days. Fill a glass bottle with olive oil, and when the oil begins to bubble, cork it. Smash the bottle where you want to release the ghost. Have sex and invite the ghost to join. Offer up gifts of cow’s teeth, goat tongue, lilacs. Just fucking scream until nothing wants to stick around.

Dan has serious questions about some of the things she’s read. Who comes up with this shit? Why? What process did they go through to discover their chosen methods? How did Veronica Sofia Louis, author of the blog  _ Glorious Spiritual Passions,  _ figure out that she could trap ghosts in a specific brand of condom? How did xTrickyxTrixiex on VampireFreaks find out that raspberry jam and Britney Spears played on vinyl could lure a ghost? Why on earth would  _ anyone _ think to mix chicken feathers and maple syrup together and slather it on their body?

She has to wonder if all of it isn’t some incredibly well-orchestrated hoax. But the sources are so diverse. It all sounds dubious, but maybe that’s part of having the “gift.” Maybe if Dan had what these people have, her intuition would lead her to do ridiculous but effective things.

She sends Maddie a message.

_ thanks for all the info! it’s really interesting but kind of confusing like where do u even begin? if it’s not too personal, how do u catch ghosts and how did u figure it out? _

Phyl stirs in her sleep, a hand fluttering on the blanket and her brows knitting together. Dan puts her phone down and takes her hand for a moment, letting go when she feels her relax.

There are so many things she’s never asked Phyl directly. Things like: how she found out she could capture ghosts, where the buggy came from, when she started doing this for pay, and at what point did James and Michael come along? Did she ever try anything else? Did she ever want to?

It hits like a stone dropping into her gut. How is Dan still in the dark about all of this? They’ve talked plenty about ghosts. Phyl has shared anecdotes about earlier cases. But there’s a big blank space in the narrative. Phyl’s stories start a year before she met Dan, and everything prior is a mystery.

Where did it all begin?

She can’t wake Phyl up now and ask for answers. But she will tomorrow. After they’ve released the ghost, she’ll try to open that door. For now, she needs to sleep, and hope that when she wakes tomorrow, her resolve will still be strong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! like, share, and subscribe. gently ring a bell in the town square. or, 
> 
> [ reblog on tumblr ](https://velvetnautilus.tumblr.com/private/190681788970/tumblr_DRUPEGcarafqSy1sA)


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, thanks for the comments on the last chapter. this one is shorter than usual, but in case you missed it, i posted a little prequel fic last week, which you can read [ here. ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22660195) ok! off we go

Dan’s resolve to ask Phyl about her history doesn’t weaken, it’s just that the urgency fades. She doesn’t want to spend the time they have together before the holidays going into things Phyl may not want to talk about. And once they’re separated, Dan reasons that this isn’t a conversation she wants to have when they’re hundreds of kilometers apart. Besides, Dan doesn’t want to do anything to upset the family time Phyl is enjoying.

Dan does wonder if her gut feeling about Phyl’s omissions is wrong. Just because Phyl hasn’t told Dan about certain things, doesn’t mean they’re things she doesn’t want to talk about. It doesn’t mean they’re uncomfortable or even painful truths. Maybe it’s just because Dan has never asked. Or Phyl doesn’t think there’s anything interesting to tell. There could be nothing there.

Except Dan starts to ruminate over some photos Phyl showed her once. Family photos—childhood photos of Phyl her mum had left at her flat when she visited last. She remembers a particular photo of Phyl with her brother, a photo that made Phyl laugh and say, “God, I look so sinister.”

She didn’t look sinister to Dan; she looked sad. Scared. She had circles under her eyes so dark against her translucent skin, like someone had pushed their thumbs into that space to make them. She wasn’t frowning, there wasn’t any expression on her face. She wasn’t looking at the camera, not really, she was looking at something else. Maybe the person taking the photo, maybe someone else beside them. Maybe something no one else could see. Her brother had his arm around her shoulder, his round cheeks and toothy smile standing in sharp contrast to her weary blankness.

“How old are you here?” Dan had asked.

“I don’t know. Eight. Nine?” She flipped the photo over onto the pile of photos they’d already looked at. The one below it was also of Phyl, but she looked like a different person. She couldn’t have been much older, but her face was fuller, the dark circles gone, a shy but genuine smile lighting up her face.

“And here?”

“Twelve?”

The photo of Phyl that haunted Dan could have just been a one-off. A bad day. Maybe she’d been sick. But it didn’t feel like that to Dan. She recognized a little something of herself in that photo. Not that she specifically had any photos of herself that looked like that, no, it was more the aura of it…It tugged at something in her, disturbing the ground where the wounds of her childhood and adolescence were buried shallow.

But whereas ugliness had blossomed in Dan’s life as she aged, the photos Phyl showed her seemed to suggest the opposite. As they went through the pile, Phyl looked nothing but content. Well-loved. Normal. It was probably stupid to ascribe so much meaning to one photo of a little girl looking tired. It was equally short-sighted to assume that just because she looked happy in so many later photos, she must have been happy all the time. You couldn’t capture all the layers and dimensions of a person and their life in fleeting flat rectangles.

There was just a  _ feeling _ Dan had, that something had changed for Phyl in those years between the two photos. That was all. It had stung inside her for a few hours, like a mild burn, and then faded away for weeks, until now, when she lies in the dark trying to fall asleep, and all she can see is a little girl with a pale mask for a face and eyes that refuse to meet her own.

As she finally drifts off, that image of a kid who probably just needs a nap begins to mutate. Pupils dilate and overtake the entire eye, blending with the dark moons beneath to form black holes that won’t stop expanding. Vivid bruises bloom around the black holes’ edges as they consume everything in their path, skin peeling back like strips of birch bark, bone melting like candle wax, until little Phyl’s whole body is eaten up and there’s nothing but a void.

Dan snaps awake and fumbles to turn on the light. She grabs her phone and looks for a recent photo of Phyl, tapping on the first one in her camera roll. Phyl smiles at Dan behind the phone as she frames the shot. The wind is blowing her fringe across her face so that it covers one eye, the other squinting against the rush of air. It’s not an artful or especially flattering photo. She took it right before Phyl left for the holidays.

Dan turns the brightness up on her phone until it hurts her eyes and the room disappears beyond its beacon. She wants to paint this image on the inside of her mind to ward off any other ugly horrors that may try to invade. She waits for the screen to go black and the colors burn on the back of her eyelids.

A few days later, sliding into the second week of January, they reunite at Phyl’s flat. Hours into the evening, Dan decides to take a leap and broach the subject that’s been swaying from the tip of her tongue since she walked through the door.

They’re lounging on the sofa, Dan’s head in Phyl’s lap. Phyl idly strokes her hair and the television murmurs low. Dan could easily fall asleep under such conditions. Instead, she sits up and faces Phyl.

“Can I ask you about some things?”

Phyl looks at her with wide eyes. Her hand hovers flat over her legs, still in the position it was before Dan slid out from underneath.

“What kind of things?”

Dan can see Phyl’s hand shake a bit as she lowers it, and the muscles in her shoulders tense. Dan should have eased into this instead of coming at her out of nowhere. She forces herself to loosen her posture, leaning her side into the back of the sofa so she doesn’t look ready to pounce.

“Just stuff about you and ghosts. Things I’ve been curious about.”

“Okay,” says Phyl, relaxing. “You kind of scared me there.”

“Sorry.”

“What do you want to know?”

Now that the door is open, Dan realizes she’s not sure exactly where to begin her inquiry. But then, she figures, the best place to begin is the beginning.

“When did you first encounter a ghost?” She tries not to sound like a reporter doing an interview.

Phyl slouches, folding her hands over her stomach. “Ah…when  _ did  _ I? Yeah…I guess…”

Dan waits for Phyl to gather her thoughts. She wonders if this is how Allison feels, when she asks Dan a question that she can’t immediately answer but sits quietly instead of prompting further. She shifts one foot from underneath her, the nerves prickling. She presses her other knee lightly against Phyl’s thigh.

“I guess it started when I was a little kid. I don’t know how old—old enough to remember but not remember well. My house was haunted. But it was just for me. I swear, my parents and my brother were fine. Even if I slept in one of their rooms it didn’t stop, but they never felt anything.”

“What did they do? The ghosts?”

“Um…I don’t really remember it all? I think there was a lot of pinching. I’d be lying in bed trying to sleep and there’d be a little pinch somewhere on my body, like a person doing it, but no one was. And this, like…chewing? in my head. Sort of like there were bugs or mice or something in my skull and I just wanted to get them out.” She runs a hand through her hair, pushing her fringe off her forehead for a moment before it flops back down. “I cut off a big chunk of hair from the back of my head once because I thought maybe the hair was keeping them trapped inside…” She trails off, tapping her lower lip with one finger. Dan waits.

“Oh! And this one time, I swear something grabbed me by the ankle,” She raises one of her legs up onto the sofa and circles her ankle tightly with her hand, “while I was falling asleep and  _ yanked  _ me, and then…I don’t know what, but I woke up under the bed. My parents always told me I was just having nightmares. I knew they were wrong, but I don’t think I knew any of it was ghosts, back then. That’s not what ghosts were like in books and on TV. You have to understand this wasn’t an all the time thing, though. I think there were…bursts of activity, then it would stop for a while, then start up again.”

She falls silent, and Dan lets the silence sit. Phyl doesn’t seem upset, just contemplative, as if it’s been a long time since she’s thought about any of this and is rediscovering bits and pieces of herself she forgot. She rubs her hand across her mouth and traces patterns with her eyes, cycling through memories.

When she can’t hold back any longer, Dan asks, “When did that stop? When did it become like it is now?” Something had obviously changed, because Phyl has a vastly different relationship with ghosts now.

“Oh, I don’t know. I was probably about ten? I honestly don’t remember what happened, but things became like they are now. No torment. I could just hear them. I could feel them vibrate in my chest,” She places both hands there, “and they were singing and it was…well, beautiful. And then at some point the ghosts just left the house altogether. Maybe they got bored; I don’t know. But I would go to other places and hear them too, and eventually through the internet I learned what was happening.”

Dan is silent herself then, thinking about that. Phyl lowers her hands, one on the sofa cushion and the other on Dan’s knee.

“Okay, I just have a few more questions.”

Phyl groans, rolling her neck. “Of course you do.”

A hot wave of shame rolls through Dan. She pulls back a bit.

“I’m sorry. You don’t have to answer anything else if you don’t want to. I’m just curious, but I can fuck off if you need me to.”

“No, no. Dan. I’m kidding. It’s fine. These aren’t like, painful memories, okay? Some of it is just really foggy and there’s just, a lot of barriers to dig through to get at it.”

“You’re sure you’re okay?”

“ _ Yes.  _ I’m fine.” She pats Dan’s knee and smiles, and Dan believes her.

“Then, I just want to know, when did you start catching ghosts?”

Phyl doesn’t have to think long before answering this one. “Right before I started uni. I tried absorbing a ghost for the first time; it was sort of just instinct? Like as soon as I wanted to do it, I knew how to do it. But I had nowhere to put it obviously, so it just came right back out. Then I bought the buggy—”

“Where?”

“From some guy online. It was kind of sketchy, to be honest, but it all worked out in the end.”

“And then you started Happy Phantoms?”

“Not exactly how it is now. Not the first-class service and high-quality standards we maintain today.”

“Yeah, alright.”

“And it was more of a summer job since we were in uni.”

“Who’s we? James and Michael?”

“No, at first it was just me and my friend Anja—who can’t hear ghosts either—then we met Michael after a year and James came along with him.”

“What happened to Anja?” Dan asks. She vaguely remembers Phyl mentioning her before. She’s definitely not jealous.

“She went to study abroad in the states, and then she just ended up staying there. Left me the van though.”

Phyl sighs and leans into Dan. Dan adjusts her position on the sofa so that Phyl’s head can find her shoulder.

“I tried to drive it once. I’d estimate the wheels did at least six rotations before I felt ill and had to stop.”

Dan grins. “Wow…Thank you for sharing all of that.”

Phyl laughs into another sigh and falls closer into Dan.

Dan looks back at the television and watches the actors move across the screen. Their brows crease and their eyes plead—lovers bargaining for understanding from each other. Their mouths move, but she doesn’t hear what they’re saying. Phyl’s body pushes heavy on Dan’s ribs and her chin presses sharply against her collarbone when she lets her head slip down, but Dan lets her stay there. Even though the conversation had flowed easily, Phyl had still made herself vulnerable. She’s earned the right to be clingy right now.

There is a lot more Dan wants to ask, but she’ll save it for later. This isn’t her one and only chance. Now that she knows Phyl is open to discussion about her ghostly past, she can bring the subject up another time.

She feels around for the remote and finds it attempting to dive in between the cushions. On the screen, perfect fake tears slip down a woman’s face. In the next shot, a man meets her searching gaze, guilt carefully molded into his features. He opens his mouth to speak and Dan changes the channel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! and now, for a bit of crowdsourcing: if anyone has ideas for places/circumstances that would be cool for a ghost hunt, let me know! i have a lot of ideas of my own, but i'm still interested in fresh thoughts from other brains.
> 
> anyway, [ here's the tumblr post ](https://velvetnautilus.tumblr.com/private/190883212090/tumblr_fcMbULlM0jmImIYji)


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> why did this chapter take three weeks to write, i hear you ask? it didn't...i just barely wrote anything for most of that time.

Dan dreams of a white room. The room is so white and shadowless that it is impossible to tell how big it is, or to see where the floor and ceiling meet the walls. If Dan got up and walked around, she might reach a wall and discover the size of the room, but she doesn’t. She sits on the floor looking at the only object in there—a lantern.

The lantern is rusty metal framing warped panes of glass. The lantern is lit; a soft yellow light flickers within it. It’s not fire, but something else. Dan doesn’t know what it is, so she doesn’t know what it will do. She can’t risk looking away.

She sits watching the light in the lantern for an amount of time between thirty seconds and an eternity. Then a door opens somewhere. She hears the door swinging on whining hinges but doesn’t see it. Footsteps clomp toward her from behind and a voice calls out cheerily. She recognizes both the footsteps and the voice.

Dan rises from the ground and turns to face Phyl, but Phyl’s not there. She whirls around and sees Phyl approaching her from the other side. She says something, laughing, but Dan can’t hear her because all the sound is being sucked into the lantern, making the light glow and throb even brighter.

Phyl trips, the rubber sole of her shoe skidding on the white floor as she steps forward, and flails her arms. She regains her balance but not before kicking out the other foot toward the lantern. It tips over and the glass shatters as if it was dropped from a great height. The yellow light expands and colors the white room. Dan can’t see anything, but she’s not scared. A pale hand reaches through the thick, egg yolk atmosphere and Dan reaches out for it. When their palms touch her bones shatter into millions of pieces like the lantern glass and her head explodes in pain. The pain lasts somewhere between thirty seconds and an eternity.

Then she wakes up.

All in all, it wasn’t that bad of a dream. The ending sucked, but she closes her eyes and thinks about the light and Phyl’s smiling face. If she hadn’t woken up, the pain might have faded away, and it would be just them, hand to hand and bathed in warmth.

Dan groans and stretches on the sofa, where she fell asleep in the middle of the day. She rolls onto her stomach and reaches for her phone on the floor.

She’s been asleep for two and a half hours, and she should be getting ready to go meet Phyl for a case. She closes her eyes again, willing the light to come back for just a breath, but there’s only darkness behind her eyelids. She yawns and heaves herself off the sofa.

Phyl’s birthday is in eight days and Dan is a little stressed. It’s their first birthday as a couple, and she hasn’t bought Phyl a gift yet. Plus she’s agreed to join Phyl at three gatherings—one with Phyl’s parents, one with her brother and his girlfriend, and one with one of Phyl’s best friends, who has just returned to London after being abroad for several months.

She tries to push all that out of her head and focus on the task at hand—following Phyl as she paces around some strangers’ home.

The flat is huge. The front door opens into the largest area, an open concept room featuring white leather sofas observing a massive, glossy black flat screen mounted to the wall, a kitchen with sleek appliances that look fresh from the factory (or possibly shipped back from the future), and a dining table with a huge carved wooden boar centerpiece. The boar is coated in a glossy, deep brown stain, which lends its eyes a wet, lifelike sheen. People sitting at the far ends of the table and people sitting across from each other right in front of the boar would not be able to see each other over its bulk. That might be handy if you were planning a dinner party where some of the guests hate each other.

Branching off from the main room there is a full and half bathroom, three bedrooms (one with another full en-suite bathroom), an office, and a home gym. These rooms are not as opulent as the main room and feel more lived in. The jacuzzi tub is set in tiles with grimy grout. Chunks are missing from the foam wrapped around the handles of the elliptical. There’s dirty laundry on the floor of the child’s bedroom. Magazines are piled up by one side of the bed in the master bedroom—one pile for read, one for unread (the unread pile is much taller). And in the third bedroom which must be a guest room, Dan catches the unmistakable stench of cat pee, despite the absence of a cat. Maybe there used to be one there, or maybe the smell is caused by the ghost.

Neither Dan or Phyl has met the clients—Isadora and Algernon Glass, and their son Reeves. A doorman let them into the building, took their coats, rode up the lift with them, and unlocked the door. He didn’t ask them any questions about what they were doing there or inquire as to the purpose of the buggy. He told them to call the front desk from a phone in the flat when they were ready to leave, and they would be escorted out.

Dan wants to know what the Glasses do for a living, if anything. She wants to know how old Reeves is. His room is ambiguous; there’s a strip of wallpaper depicting tumbling teddy bears around the perimeter of the room, but also a poster of a woman in a bikini, but also a sizeable stuffed animal collection, and most baffling of all, several historical erotic paperbacks—the kind Dan associates only with middle-aged women—left out casually for anyone to see. She also wants to know who names a kid Reeves Glass.

The Glasses have complained—and complained was the right word, because their email was written in a tone that made it seem like the haunting was Happy Phantoms’ fault—of several phenomena.

First, the television in the main room would turn on in the middle of the night. Whoever got up to check would find it preaching to an empty room, but there were indents on the leather sofa cushions, as if a group of people had just been sitting there, and they were warm to the touch. (“Ghost ass,” Dan had murmured as they read the email, sending Phyl into a fit of giggles.)

Next, all the food in the kitchen spoiled rapidly. Fresh apples shrunk to black walnuts overnight. Cheese molded; milk curdled. Vegetables turned to brown mush and drew flies, and keeping meat in the house was out of the question.

And finally, the thing they hated the most. Every night when they sat down to dinner, they heard a great wailing. “The most miserable sound in the world” read the email. It made it impossible to stomach the food they had delivered for their meals, and they just ended up going out to eat. Dan supposes even people with wooden boars on their dining tables and flatscreens the size of queen mattresses on their walls can’t afford go out for dinner every night.

The email was signed by all three Glasses. Dan seriously doubted they’d sat around drafting it together. Especially not Reeves. It was like a Christmas card where every name is signed in the same handwriting, and you know only one person in the family has actually laid eyes on it.

Phyl is pacing the flat because she can’t get a sense of where the ghost is. When they first arrived, after they got over the shock of the place’s size and decor, she deduced that it was focused in the master bathroom. But when they went in there, she stared down into the dirty canyon of the jacuzzi tub and frowned.

“What? What’s that look?”

“It’s not here. I swear it was here—it got louder and louder as we approached. But it’s not here.”

They chased the sound to Reeves’ room, then to the kitchen, then back to the master bedroom. Every time Phyl was sure they were right upon it, she’d be met with silence. Of course, Dan couldn’t hear anything.

“I think it’s darting all around,” says Phyl, when they land in the main room again and sink onto one of the sofas. “But it’s  _ so  _ fast. I can’t tell where the sound is coming from when it’s zipping about the place and I can’t catch up.”

“If we just pick a spot, maybe it’ll come to us,” Dan suggests.

Phyl shakes her head, eyes traveling the room. “No, I don’t think so. It might stop, but it’s never going to come to us.” She rubs her temples and scrunches up her eyes. “I feel like it’s teasing us. Laughing. And my brain is itchy.”

Dan is about to ask how a brain can be itchy when Phyl springs up and hurries from the room, back down a hall to one of the bathrooms. She sighs and follows.

“Oh no!” Phyl cries, out of view.

Dan runs the rest of the way down the hall, skidding into the bathroom.

“What? What?”

Phyl has her palms and an ear pressed to an ivory-tiled wall. She pulls her head away and frowns at Dan.

“I think it went next-door.”

“Next-door?”

“Yeah. Into the next flat.” She runs a hand down the tiles and gives them a friendly pat.

Dan opens her mouth to ask if ghosts can do that, but she stops herself because of course they can. What difference does it make to a ghost, whether they’re traveling between two rooms in the same flat or from one flat to another? A wall is a wall.

“So, what now?”

“I guess we wait for it to come back.”

Dan adjusts her position on the sofa. She cracks her shoulder and looks over at Phyl, curled up on white leather and chewing her lip, eyes on the television.

“Phyl, it’s been two hours.”

“It has.”

“And you haven’t felt the ghost come back?”

“No.”

“Are we going to watch TV all night or do something about that? I mean, that’s cool. Technically the ghost has left the flat, so one could say our work here is done. Maybe we should take a dip in the jacuzzi next!”

“Okay, I get it. Waiting isn’t working. But I don’t know what else to do.”

Dan has read about at least a hundred ways to lure ghosts to where you want them, but she hasn’t discussed any of that with Phyl. It all seems personalized anyway; just because one thing works for one ghost hunter, doesn’t mean it’ll work for another. She’d love to ask Maddie more about all of that, but they stopped replying to her messages.

“Maybe we could do something to lure it back?” she tries.

“I guess,” Phyl mumbles, fussing with her fringe. “I don’t know.” She doesn’t seem keen on the idea. Either because she doesn’t know what to do, or just doesn’t want to.

Dan gets to her feet. “Well, I guess we’ll just have to go to the ghost then.”

“What?”

“Let’s visit the neighbors.” She’s half joking, but Phyl’s eyes go round with terror.

“We can’t do that!”

They probably can’t. Either there won’t be anyone home, and they’re not about to break in, or there will be someone there and…what?

“Sure we can. You want to get paid, don’t you? Get off your ass.”

To Dan’s surprise, Phyl stands up.

“Okay. How about we go over there, and I can listen at the door. Or we can knock, and if someone answers, I can just see if I hear anything when they open the door. Yeah.”

“So we’re doing this then?”

Phyl nods. She’s got a determined look in her eye that makes Dan smile.

They step out into the hall, leaving the door to the Glasses’ flat ajar behind them. Besides the lift, there’s only one other door on this floor. There’s a wide stretch of wall between it and the one they’re standing in front of. Dan tries to visualize the layout of the Glasses’ flat and imagine how the neighboring place might be shaped, but it all falls apart in a jumble of rooms.

As soon as they reach the door to the other flat, Phyl grimaces and says, “Oh, it’s in there alright.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah,” she says, rolling up her sleeve to scratch her arm. “I feel like I’ve got hives.” She thrusts her arm out for Dan to examine. “Does it look like hives?”

Dan can’t see any sign of hives, just redness from scratching. “No, it just looks like you need to put your claws away.”

A thump sounds from inside the flat, and Dan and Phyl exchange a glance to confirm they both heard it. And they both know it was a human thump.

“This is good,” Dan reasons, as Phyl is already shaking her head. “Just knock on the door and when they open it maybe you’ll get a sense of what to do next.”

“What am I meant to say? ‘Oh, sorry, we think a ghost might have slipped through the wall into your flat, mind if we have a look?”

“We’re not going in. We’re just trying to make  _ something _ happen.”

Phyl still looks doubtful, and she’s scratching a patch of pink into the side of her neck. But as Dan watches, she seems to summon her courage, and reaches toward the door, hand forming into a fist. Just as she’s about to make contact, she draws back fearfully, clutching her hands to her chest.

Dan thinks it must be something to do with the ghost, but then Phyl turns to her with pleading eyes and begs in a desperate voice, “You do it. I can’t. Please, Dan. You knock.”

She wrings her hands and Dan sighs, gently pushing her aside with a fingertip to the shoulder. She doesn’t want to talk to a stranger either, mostly because of the potential for painful awkwardness. But she’s never going to be in this place meeting this mystery person ever again, so does any of that really matter?

Dan knocks on the door, and as they wait she realizes she has no idea what they’re actually going to say, and they really should have discussed that further before she went ahead and rapped smartly on the wood like a person who knew what they were doing, and her thoughts start to spiral…

And then it’s too late because the door opens.

The man is so tall he must have to bow his head to fit through the doorway. He’s wearing a green baseball cap, a maroon jumper, khaki slacks, and steel-toed boots. None of it seems to fit quite right, as if he’s borrowed each piece of the ensemble from someone else. The lower half of his face is obscured by a thick gray beard and mustache, bristly as steel wool. Between that and the shadow cast by the brim of the cap, it’s difficult to read his expression.

The three of them stand there in silence for a beat too long. Then the man opens his mouth, a thin slit of black appearing amidst the gray, and speaks.

“Are you the caterers?” His voice is as gravely as Dan imagined it would be, but quieter. It doesn’t boom.

“Yes!” Phyl chirps.

Dan’s jaw drops and her eyes shoot incredulous laser beams at Phyl. If the man notices her telling reaction, he doesn’t mention it.

He just looks at them.

“You don’t have anything with you?”

They must look ridiculous—standing there empty-handed in their joggers, jumpers and socks, and the headphones around Dan’s neck. Phyl’s face goes blank and it’s Dan’s turn to improvise.

“Our stuff is right here!” she says, dashing over to the buggy still sitting outside the door to the Glasses’ flat. She wheels it over, smiling widely in a manner she hopes isn’t too ghoulish.

The man nods once and turns from them. “C’mon in then.”

Dan tries to communicate with Phyl behind his back, mouthing angry words. Phyl just holds up her hands and hunches her shoulders, staring back with remorseful eyes.

They could just run back down the hall and escape into the Glasses’ flat. This occurs to Dan right after they’ve entered the man’s flat and he’s closed the door behind them.

The size and shape of the room is obscured by piles of cardboard boxes stacked perilously high everywhere. Dan might assume the man had just moved in and hadn’t unpacked yet, if not for the layer of dust that covered the top of every box. If there was furniture in the room, it was buried in boxes. There was no television mounted on the wall, no wooden boar, no leather sofas. Just boxes.

The man starts winding through the labyrinth, and Dan and Phyl follow. Dan struggles to push the buggy around tight turns. Over her shoulder, Phyl whispers “We’re heading toward the ghost!”  _ And our violent deaths _ , Dan thinks, but doesn’t speak.

The journey ends at a frosted glass door that the man pushes inward, revealing a kitchen surprisingly free of boxes. There is a stack of newspapers on the floor in the corner, which look like they were all left out in the rain and have begun to melt back into paper pulp, but besides that, it’s rather tidy.

“Oven,” he says, pointing to the oven. “Pantry,” pointing to two wooden doors on the opposite wall. “Got to take care of my own preparations. Yell if you need anything.”

And with that he disappears into the maze. Dan waits until the sound of his boots scuffing the floor and his shoulders brushing against the boxes is inaudible, then she closes the door and rounds on Phyl.

“Why the fuck did you say yes?”

“I panicked!”

Dan groans and sits down beside the buggy. “We need to get out of here. What the fuck kind of event are we catering? He can’t be inviting people to this dump?”

Phyl slips one hand down the back of her jumper to scratch between her shoulder blades, while the other works her scalp. “We can’t go yet. Not till we get the ghost.”

“How are we supposed to catch a ghost while some serial killer’s lumbering about?”

“He led us right to it.” Phyl grins, scratching a little red goatee into her chin. “I know you can’t hear it in here, but surely you can smell it.”

The only thing Dan smelled in the flat so far was the dust, but Phyl’s words were followed by the sudden, acrid stench of cat pee, far more potent that in the Glasses’ guest bedroom.

Dan gags and pinches her nose. It doesn’t help. “Are you sure there’s not just a cat here?”

“I’m pretty  _ paws _ itive.”

“Did you just...? Nevermind. Let’s grab it and go.”

It’s not that simple, of course.

“I’m so itchy I can’t concentrate,” Phyl whines. “I just want to strip naked and slather myself in butter or something.”

“I’d love to see that, but maybe later, okay?  _ Please _ just try to focus on the ghost before I pass out.”

Somewhere in the distance, voices cut suddenly through the quiet, and they both freeze, eyes locked on each other. But there’s no sound of movement anywhere, and the voices don’t travel.

“TV,” Dan whispers. Phyl swallows and nods.

Phyl circles the room, humming and scratching, while Dan stands in the center beside the buggy. She watches as Phyl opens the oven (empty), several cupboards (sparse), and finally, the fridge. She makes a noise of disgust.

“Come here. You need to see this.”

Dan walks over and Phyl moves aside.

The shelves are filled with plastic containers. Dan looks closer and sees what appears to be chunks of red meat sitting in bloody water. There is no other food in the fridge. Her stomach turns, but she reaches out for one of the containers. When she lifts it, a wobbly chunk of meat slides within it and slaps again the plastic with a sickening squelch. She hastily shoves it back in the fridge.

“He’s a fucking cannibal,” she says, backing away.

Phyl has stopped scratching. “It looks like steak, not…” Her voice wavers. “People meat.”

“Right, because you know what cubed-up human flesh looks like.” She slams the fridge door shut and listens to the containers shake against each other.  “He’s gonna kills us and necrophile us and cook us—”

“Oh my  _ god _ .”

“Forget the ghost. It’s not in the Glasses’ flat anymore so it’s not our problem.”

Phyl freezes, mouth hanging open.

“Dan—Dan, shut up,” she whispers fiercely.

“I’m serious, we need to get the fuck out of here before—”

“ _ Shut the fuck up _ ,” she hisses, and that does the trick.

As soon as she stops talking Dan knows why Phyl wanted her to be quiet. Heavy footsteps creak closer through the maze of boxes, and Dan has just enough time to turn around and face the door before the man’s massive silhouette appears behind the frosted glass. She holds her breath as it opens. Phyl grabs her arm.

He surveys them with blank eyes. Dan tries to think of something to say, while hoping Phyl won’t say anything.

He must notice that there’s no sign of any cooking or food prep taking place. Just two clearly unprofessional caterers on the precipice of panic.

“Everything going well?” he asks.

Dan gapes like a fish before answering as brightly as she can manage, “Yes!” She doesn’t elaborate.

The brief silence that follows is suffocating. Phyl’s grip on her arm is painful.

“Good,” he says, voice devoid of emotion.

And then he’s gone, the door swinging shut behind him.

Dan and Phyl exhale in unison and Phyl lets go of her. The sound of the TV returns to Dan’s ears, no longer muted by her fear, and her heart slows.

Now they really have to leave. No excuses. But Phyl has other ideas. She walks to the pantry and opens the doors, then disappears inside its dark mouth.

“What the hell?”

Dan follows, opening the doors wider to unveil her kneeling on the floor, arms raised to the barren shelves.  There’s something deeply disturbing about the lack of food within, considering the man had directed them toward it. But the pantry’s not completely empty. There’s Phyl and a ghost. 

The ghost itself is invisible to Dan, but its presence is revealed by Phyl’s body language. There’s a reverence to the pose, to the way she opens herself up, vulnerable and welcoming. It’s beautiful. Frightening. Sometimes Dan just wants to stop her—to grab Phyl’s wrists and pull her arms down to her sides, and then to put a hand over her mouth. But what right does she have to do that? 

This time, she’s just glad this disaster is almost over. She whips on her headphones and rushes to the buggy, throwing the lid open. Phyl turns around and starts to crawl toward it. She drags herself up and deposits the ghost. When she slumps back down, Dan yanks her headphones off.

“Come on, come on.”

Phyl whines as Dan tugs on her arm, trying to get her to stand.

“Tired,” she mumbles, shaking Dan off. Her head flops forward on her neck and she melts into the floor.

“Please, you can’t do this right now. We need to leave.”

The television has gone quiet, leaving the sound of approaching footsteps unmasked.

“I don’t have any bones,” says Phyl. She sounds drunk.

“You’re not gonna have any  _ flesh _ when he cuts it all off!”

Dan has an idea. If she can get Phyl up on top of the buggy (and convince her to hold on so she doesn’t fall off) she can just push it out. However, the freshly filled metal is too hot to sit on directly. She takes the headphones off her neck and pulls her jumper over her head, draping it over the top of the buggy.

She bends down in front of Phyl and tries coaxing her up again.

“Why’re you in your bra?” Phyl giggles.

Somehow Dan manages to get Phyl upright and directs her to sit on the buggy, making sure the jumper forms a barrier between her and the metal. She places a hand on it, and she can still feel heat through the thick fabric, but Phyl should be okay if they hurry.

“Hold on.”

Pushing the buggy is harder with the added weight, and Phyl keeps swaying and throwing the balance off. But the sound of steel-toed boots gives Dan a spike of adrenaline that helps her overcome those challenges.

She should have paid more attention when they were following the man inside, because all the boxes look the same and there are numerous branching paths to choose from. Phyl would be no help even if she was completely lucid.

Dan pushes the buggy past an alcove and the man is just  _ there _ . She screams and starts running. The buggy bounces violently as it careens around corners and clips boxes. It’s a wonder Phyl doesn’t fall off. She hasn’t made a peep and Dan can’t see her face, but she holds on tight.

“STOP!” the man bellows. His yelling voice is nothing like his speaking voice. There’s a chilling clarity and emotion to it.

Dan imagines this is what it feels like to be chased by the Minotaur. Her mind is a white blank, a feral mess of synapses with only one goal: escape.

From behind, Dan hears a tower of boxes shifting and falling. The man lets out an angry, incoherent gargle. Dan doesn’t stop or look back.

The exit comes into view. The man is still advancing, moving boxes and pushing through the avalanche. Dan is about to barrel right into the door but stops just in time. She squeezes around the buggy to open it.

Phyl slides off the buggy and goes round to the back of it to push it through the door. She races past Dan, who is momentarily stunned by her sudden liveliness.

“Hurry!”

Dan takes off. The door to the Glasses’ flat is still open, and they fly through it. Phyl lets go of the buggy and it sails across the hardwood flooring, stopping when it bumps up against one of the sofas. Dan slams the door shut, bolts it, and sinks to the floor, gasping for air. Phyl sits as well, and they stare at each other, chests heaving.

Dan starts laughing, though nothing is funny. Phyl shakes her head and drags her hands down her face. She lays down on her back and joins in the laughter.

A wail of anguish silences them both. It’s a human wail, not a ghost. It travels from the man’s flat through the walls and reverberates in the great chamber.

One long, unbroken note out of the mouth of the man they fled from. Then it’s quiet.

Dan does her best to keep her voice level when she calls down to the lobby. Phyl has to remind her to put her jumper back on—warm like it’s fresh from the dryer.

The doorman doesn’t remark on anything when he arrives, he just curtly beckons them to the lift. On the ride down, Dan realizes she’s left her noise-cancelling headphones in the man’s kitchen. They were expensive. She’ll buy a new pair when they get paid.

In the lobby, the doorman informs them that the Glasses’ have arranged for a cab ride home—at no cost—if they so choose. Dan wants nothing more than to accept the offer, and she’s sure Phyl does too, but the buggy won’t fit in a regular car, and they can’t just leave the Mystery Machine there.

Phyl voices these concerns aloud.

“Pardon my saying so,” the doorman replies, “but you two look rather harried and unfit to drive at this late hour. A van can be arranged to take you home, and your own vehicle can remain here overnight. It will be perfectly safe, and you can return tomorrow to pick it up.”

Phyl draws close to Dan so they can carry out a private conversation. The doorman stands by with a bored expression.

“I don’t want to come back here ever again,” whispers Dan. “Even just to the parking garage.”

“Me too. And I’m not leaving Princess behind. I don’t trust these people.”

Dan is so very tired and shaken up, and the prospect of driving home through the dark, busy streets of London makes her want to cry. But she and Phyl are in agreement, and they decline the offer.

The doorman brings them their coats.

“The Mr. and Mrs. will be in touch regarding your final payment,” he says. They both nod wearily, and he ushers them out of the lobby and into the night.

The air is crisp and cold and Dan shivers. Phyl opens the back doors of the van and lets the ramp down so Dan can push the buggy up and inside.

As Dan fumbles with the bungee cords to tie the buggy down, Phyl leans forward to press her forehead to Dan’s arm, making her pause.

“Thank you for getting me out of there,” she says softly.

Dan chokes up and her eyes burn. She squeezes them shut and clears her throat. Phyl leans back.

Though her brain is fuzzy and her eyelids heavy, Dan manages to get them back to Phyl’s flat in one piece. They undress and unwind, have a snack, and then prepare for sleep. Lying beside Phyl in her bed, an image of the man chasing them flashes before Dan’s eyes, triggering a sharp pang of fear. She looks at Phyl’s peaceful sleeping face on the pillow beside her and pushes the feeling down.

She closes her eyes and soon enough, she falls into a dreamless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading ! :)
> 
> [ reblog on tumblr ](https://velvetnautilus.tumblr.com/private/612303594128097280/tumblr_oYOYxoyDmQrGH8GIg)


	10. Chapter 10

Dan survives meeting Phyl’s family. More than that—she enjoys it.

They began Phyl’s birthday at her flat—Dan having spent the night—and her gifts went over well. A box of chocolates (half of which were devoured before the end of the day), several pairs of novelty socks, and most importantly, tickets to a special premiere screening of an anime that Phyl had been mentioning for weeks. Phyl danced around the flat in her new socks, ushering Dan up off the floor so they could spin around together until they were too dizzy to stand up. Then Phyl had to lie down on the sofa with her eyes closed for a few minutes while her stomach settled, but as soon as she felt better, the revelry resumed.

Dan’s own stomach had twisted and churned as the time of her first encounter with Phyl’s parents drew near. But Phyl was so clearly proud and excited to introduce Dan to her parents. She believed without a doubt that her parents would like Dan, and that soothed Dan’s nerves.

Kathryn surprised Dan with a big hug. Her Northern accent was much stronger than Phyl’s, but as the evening went on, their voices became more similar as Phyl slipped back into old melodies. Kathryn didn’t pester Dan with questions about herself, but she was attentive to everything she had to say. Dan felt like an interesting person in her presence.

Nigel was quieter, almost inscrutable. He shook Dan’s hand when they met and introduced himself as “Phyl’s father, Nigel” as if Dan could have been unsure as to his identity. He let Kathryn and Phyl drive the conversation, nodding as he listened, a soft smile on his face as their voices danced around him.

They went to dinner at a restaurant Phyl liked, and then took a leisurely walk around London. Dan warmed up through the evening, while still shielding herself behind a veil of politeness. She kept her humor light and didn’t swear even once. Phyl teased her about being on her “best behavior” afterward.

She was struck by a sense of familial comfort that brewed into an ache by the time they parted, because she had known these people for only a few hours but felt safer with them than some family members she had known for years. Late at night, long after Phyl had fallen asleep, she cried silently, letting herself ride the waves of conflicting emotions. Regret, longing, solace, and joy.

A few days later she met Phyl’s brother Martyn and his girlfriend Cornelia. Martyn behaved as if he’d known Dan for years, treating her to the same brotherly banter as Phyl but never pushing it too far. Cornelia was tiny with a commanding presence and vibrant red hair. She complimented Dan on her outfit with sincerity, and her pretty face and beautiful laugh made Dan swoon a little. Dan learned that almost all of her family lived in Sweden, and she didn’t see them often. Someday, Dan would like to ask her how she had felt when she first met the Lesters.

The strangest part of those encounters was that none of Phyl’s family knew about Happy Phantoms. They lied about how they met, saying they’d done freelancing for the same client.

At last, it was time to meet Phyl’s friend Prunella. Prunella had been in the country when Dan first met Phyl, but the three of them never got together, and by the time Dan and Phyl started dating, she was traveling abroad. Now she’s back. Phyl met up with Prunella once already, without Dan. She briefs Dan on her. Prunella is a journalist. She and Phyl met shortly after Phyl got her master’s degree, when they were working on an assignment for the same online magazine. She has a seven-year-old daughter named Alice. She is too cool to be friends with Phyl, but miraculously is.

She also answers a question Dan didn’t ask but wanted to.

“She does like girls, and we kissed once ages ago at a New Year’s Eve party at midnight. But we’ve never dated and there are no mushy feelings between us.”

Dan pretends this information has no effect on her—positive or negative. The truth is, she’s more jealous of the apparent strength of their friendship (Phyl refers to her a few times as her  _ best friend) _ , and the fact that she’s known Phyl for much longer than Dan has, and most certainly knows things about her that Dan doesn’t. But Dan knows unique things about Phyl as well, and she’s pretty sure that Phyl is in love with her, even if neither of them have said it yet, so the jealousy doesn't threaten to overwhelm her.

She’s afraid of making a fool of herself in front of someone important to Phyl. But she’s also excited to meet yet another person who loves Phyl. The way Phyl’s family had looked at her, and spoke and laughed with her, left no doubt in Dan’s mind that they treasure her.

They ride the tube with backpacks on their laps. It’s about two in the afternoon, and the plan is to sleep over. Beyond that, Dan doesn’t know what they’ll be doing, and neither does Phyl. Prunella has promised her cake, and that’s all that matters.

From the outside, there’s nothing remarkable about the building Prunella lives in. Just a gray, unassuming face with neat rows of windows, some of which have flower boxes, none of which have flowers. (It is early February, after all.) Most of the flats have their curtains drawn, but as they approach Dan thinks she sees someone on one of the upper floors peer down at them for a moment and then disappear.

They step inside and into a different world. The lobby has a black and white checkered floor, except in one spot where, infuriatingly, a square that should be white is instead a pale brown. The left wall is covered in green and black scroll wallpaper, the right with yellow and pink vertical stripes. The wall directly across from them appears to be plain white behind the layers of pinned up notices and posters hanging askew. The baseboards have all been painted a dull gold. Dan closes her eyes tight, willing away the madness. When she opens them, everything somehow looks even worse than before.

“Is this Hell?” she asks, reluctantly following Phyl further into the lobby.

“I promise the rest isn’t like this.”

They approach the lift. It’s small and old fashioned, with a rickety metal grate to pull across instead of automatic sliding doors. Once they’re inside, Dan notes that the buggy would not fit if they had it with them. The gate whines as Phyl pulls it closed. She latches it and steps back quickly, bumping against Dan. The lift begins to rise. Contrary to its appearance, the ride to the seventh floor is smooth. They glide leisurely upward without making stops on any other floors.

A little girl answers the door on the first knock. She has curly strawberry-blonde hair and a constellation of freckles on her face. She smiles at Phyl.

“Hi, Phyl.”

“Hi Alice.”

Alice looks at Dan with suspicion. “Who are you?”

“I’m Dan.”

“Dan is my girlfriend.”

It’s the first time Dan has heard Phyl refer to her such, though she knows Phyl must have used the term with other people in conversations she wasn’t involved in. It fills her with a confusing mix of pride and unaccountable discomfort.

“I was just checking,” says Alice. Prunella must have told her who was coming over. “Mum has girlfriends sometimes. She’s bisectional.”

“You don’t have to keep telling people that,” says a woman, presumably Prunella, appearing from around the corner. “Let our guests inside.”

Alice steps back so Dan and Phyl can enter the flat. Prunella has the same curly hair as her daughter—but dyed multiple shades of green—and the same abundance of freckles. A thin black tattoo of a snake exits her ear and curls up her temple, its forked tongue stopping just before the end of her eyebrow.

She pulls Phyl into a hug. “Happy birthday! Again!”

“Thank you! Again!”

She lets go of Phyl and reaches to shake Dan’s hand.

“I’m Prunella. It’s lovely to finally meet you, Dan. Phyl has talked about you so much. So. Much.” She smirks at Dan and glances over to Phyl, who squirms bashfully.

“It’s nice to meet you too.”

Prunella lets go of her hand and reaches up to tuck a green curl behind her ear. Her little finger is missing above the first joint.

She must notice Dan looking because she wiggles the little half finger and says, “Dragon bit it off.”

Behind her, Alice rolls her eyes. “We all know dragons aren’t real,” she says.

Prunella winks at Dan before turning around. “Well, duh, not  _ anymore _ . They all went extinct before you were born.”

Before Alice can retort, Prunella claps her hands together and continues. “Alright, darlings, get your asses to the sofa. It’s showtime.”

Dan looks at Phyl, who shrugs and heads deeper into the flat.

The interior is, blessedly, nothing like the lobby of the building. The floors are hardwood, worn down in many spots, and the walls are a crisp white. They enter the lounge. The furniture looks mostly like assembled flatpack, which Dan doesn’t turn her nose up at. The sofa is a dark brown faux suede, with matching pillows and a pile of blankets balanced on the back. The soft cushions have been well-squished.

Dan’s attention is drawn to framed pictures on the walls. They circle the room, of various sizes but all hung at the same height and with matching, simple black frames. Dan walks up to one.

It’s a child’s drawing. Two people and a dog standing in front of some kind of giant egg. The sky is full of stars, accented with a tasteful amount of glitter.

Under the frame, a little typed up placard reads:

**Alice Rogers **(b. 2012) **  
_We Are Going to Space_**_,_ 2018 **  
**Marker, watercolor, and glitter glue on paper**  
**

The egg must be a spaceship then.

“It’s all Alice’s art,” says Phyl. “There’s more throughout the flat, but this is the main gallery.”

“It’s wonderful,” says Dan.

“Thank you,” says Alice, appearing beside her. “Let me know if you like anything you see, and we can talk prices.”

Phyl stifles a laugh.

“Of course. Thank you,” says Dan.

Phyl sits on the sofa and Dan joins her, against one of the armrests. They’re facing the television. A laptop on the floor is connected to it.

“What delights do you have in store for us?” Phyl asks Prunella as she joins them. Phyl scoots over till she’s sitting right next to Dan. Alice sits down against the other armrest.

Prunella messes with the laptop on the floor until its screen appears on the television. It’s a youtube playlist titled “no bards, no masters” with seventeen videos ranging from five minutes to two hours.

“I’ve been working on this all year,” says Prunella. “This is a perfectly curated playlist of student productions of Shakespeare. You will laugh. You may cry. Alice will get restless and leave halfway through the first video.”

“I will not!” Alice crosses her arms and presses her back into the sofa.

“Not to worry, I’ll fetch you when it’s cake time.” Prunella hits play on the first video and goes to join them on the sofa, filling the space between Phyl and Alice.

“Legs up,” she says, lifting hers off the floor and holding them straight out in front. Phyl and Alice copy her, so Dan does the same. “Hit it, Alice.”

Alice reaches over the arm of the sofa toward something Dan can’t see. All of a sudden, the two front panels of the sofa pop up into footrests. Dan cries out when it hits the back of her legs, soft as the cushioning is.

Phyl laughs and bumps her leg against Dan’s. She pulls down one of blankets bunched up on the back of the sofa and drapes it over them.

A teenage boy in an outfit of questionable historical accuracy runs out on stage and starts ad libbing his way through an opening monologue. The person filming mutters the correct lines under their breath, sounding increasingly distraught. Dan can already feel laughter bubbling up inside.

Many of the videos are just selected scenes from the plays, others are the full production. Some of them stay as close to the original text as possible, others stray so far Dan’s not sure which play she’s watching at first.

Prunella is wrong; Alice makes it a minute into the second video before sliding off the sofa and going to her room. She’s also right; they all laugh a lot. There are plenty of moments that make Dan cringe with secondhand embarrassment, but the moments of genuine hilarity (intentional or not) outweigh them. There are plenty of somber moments as well, and she is sincerely moved by the talent and line delivery of some of the young actors.

At one point, during an otherwise standard and somewhat boring presentation of  _ Hamlet _ , the student playing Hamlet punts the volleyball representing Yorick’s skull into the audience without warning, eliciting curses and screams. Judging by the looks on Horatio and the gravedigger’s faces, this was not planned. The video angles down to the floor and then cuts off abruptly. Dan laughs so hard that she does indeed cry. The sound of the three adults losing their shit draws Alice back to them, demanding to know what’s so funny.

Prunella pauses the playlist to go to the kitchen and prepare the cake for serving. Alice follows to help.

“This isn’t what I expected we’d be doing tonight,” Dan says to Phyl when they’re alone.

“Me too, but I’m glad it is. I don’t even care about Shakespeare.”

“I was in  _ Romeo and Juliet _ ,” says Dan, thinking back. “I played Benvolio.” Some of the boys in the play had made fun of her for having too “girly” a voice for the character, and some had said worse, but she’d loved doing it so much.

She recites a few lines for Phyl, surprising herself with how easily she remembers.

Phyl watches her intently as she speaks, a smile growing on her face.

“Wow. I don’t know who Benvolio is, but that was kind of hot.”

“You’re so uncultured,” Dan scoffs, forcing her own smile into a scowl.

Prunella and Alice emerge from the kitchen carrying a slice of cake on a plate in each hand.

“I cracked the eggs,” Alice says loftily, once everyone’s settled.

“That’s the hardest part,” says Dan, and Alice smiles at her.

“Well,  _ I  _ creamed the butter and sugar,” says Prunella.

“Good for you,” says Phyl, patting her on the shoulder. She shoves a forkful of cake in her mouth and her eyes light up.

The cake is delicious. So is the takeaway they get later, when they decide to have dinner after their dessert. Alice gets bored again and goes to her room, and they run out of Shakespeare videos. Then they just talk. Prunella has all kinds of stories to tell from her trip, some of which she’s already told Phyl, but happily repeats for Dan. And because Prunella knows about the ghosts, they can talk freely about their cases. Prunella hasn’t been with Phyl on a ghost hunt and never tires of hearing about them.

Sometime around nine, Prunella gets up to convince a protesting Alice to get ready for bed. Once that task is accomplished, they set about inflating an air mattress for Dan and Phyl to sleep on. It becomes apparent early on that it’ll be a tight fit for both of them to share, so they rock, paper, scissors for who has to sleep on the sofa instead. Dan loses. Technically. She can’t stretch her legs out fully on the sofa, but it probably provides more support than the air mattress.

“Keep telling yourself that,” says Phyl.

By eleven, Prunella can barely keep her eyes open and has to go to bed. Dan and Phyl stay up a bit longer, talking in hushed voices. When the pauses between Phyl’s words start to stretch out to the point of incoherency, Dan suggests they go to bed.

“I don’t know why I’m so tired,” Phyl mumbles.

“That’s what happens when you turn twenty-eight.”

Phyl rumbles a soft laugh and gets up carefully, swaying down the hall to the bathroom. She returns ten minutes later, bespectacled and clad in pajamas. She gets down and starfishes on the mattress, hands and feet falling off the edges. Dan makes her way to the bathroom, and when she returns Phyl’s fast asleep.

She lies on the sofa and fucks around on her phone until the desire to sleep begins to blanket her brain.

Dan wakes up an hour or so later, eyes opening to the blank ceiling. She’s just had a dream, she knows it, but she can’t remember what it was about. She rolls over and looks at Phyl, no longer spread out but curled up in a little ball in the middle of the mattress. Was it a dream about her?

She gets up as quietly as possible, tiptoeing down the hall to the bathroom. On the way there, she sees that the light is on in the kitchen and changes course.

Alice is sitting at the table, a sandwich halfway to her mouth. Her eyes widen when Dan walks in, and they both freeze, locked in place by each other’s gazes.

Alice lowers the sandwich to her plate. Dan creeps in and takes a seat at the table.

“Hi,” she whispers.

“Shh!” says Alice, louder than Dan.

“Sorry. What are you up to?” The time on the microwave reads 1:30. It’s been a long time since Dan was seven years old, but she’s pretty sure seven-year-olds are meant to be asleep at this hour.

“I was hungry.”

“Right.”

“I’m not supposed to eat after I’ve brushed my teeth,” she says, conspiratorially. “Mum says it’ll make all my teeth fall out and the tooth fairy doesn’t have enough money to pay for all of them at once. But Mum  _ is  _ the tooth fairy and she only paid me 50p for these,” she lifts her lip to show two gaps in her gums, “which is barely any money at all.”

Dan holds back a laugh.

“And besides, I have more teeth waiting.” She lifts the sandwich again and takes a big bite.

“Why don’t you just brush your teeth again after you’ve eaten?”

Alice frowns and gives her a pointed look. “Because brushing teeth is  _ boring _ .”

There’s no sense in arguing, so Dan just nods and makes a vague sound.

“So, are you like Phyl?” Alice asks, speaking at a normal volume now.

“Like? In what way?”

“With ghosts.”

“Oh.” Dan pauses, taken aback. Phyl told her Prunella knew but hadn’t mentioned anything about Alice. “No, I’m not.”

Alice takes another bite of her sandwich and chews thoughtfully. She swallows and asks, “Are you like Mum then? Do you have bad dreams?”

_ Bad dreams _ ? Dan’s breath catches in her chest.

“I don’t know what you—”

“Hello?”

Dan turns so fast in her chair she nearly falls off. Phyl is standing in the doorway. Her eyes are half-closed behind her glasses, and her hair is a black bird’s nest.

“What brings you here?” Dan asks, casually as she can. Like she’s not drowning in dread and confusion.

“I was hungry.”

The next morning Dan stands beside Phyl on the tube, looking straight ahead but not seeing the passengers all around them. She’s caught up in her head. She needs to talk to Phyl. She needs to tell her about everything that’s been going on, but it’s all tangled up like a knot of thread, strands from various spools all choked together. She doesn’t know where to begin. There’s her unsuccessful research into the awful sound. Her conversations with Maddie. All the things she learned about catching ghosts. The nightmares. (How can she tell Phyl about those without scaring her?) What Alice said. (What did she mean?) The way her shoulder burned when Phyl touched her. (No, maybe not that.)

Dan doesn’t know whether the sound and the dreams are connected. She doesn’t know anything really, except she can’t keep doing this alone.

So when they make it home and they’ve settled in—shoes and coats off, kettle on—she takes Phyl by the hand and swallows her fear to free up her voice. She rubs her thumb along the back of Phyl’s hand and musters up a smile, trying to communicate that there isn’t anything wrong between them before she speaks.

“Can we talk?”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading!
> 
> [ reblog on tumblr ](https://velvetnautilus.tumblr.com/private/613521126789988352/tumblr_mWmUgP3UNLab5v5lZ)


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there will be ghosty business in the next chapter

Dan tells Phyl everything in motion. It’s easier that way. She paces back and forth in Phyl’s bedroom and draws the words with her hands. Phyl sits pensive on the bed, holding a pillow and tracking Dan’s movement.

Dan describes her conversations with Maddie, including the fact that they’ve stopped replying to her. She talks of how she’s learned about catching ghosts. She details all the revelations and dead ends of these efforts. Then she talks about the dreams, speaking in broad strokes and leaving out the finer, gory details. She doesn’t want to baby Phyl, but she doesn’t want to frighten her either. If Phyl wants to know more she can ask, and Dan will answer.

It’s not a prepared speech, so the words come out messy. Trains of thought run away and crash into each other. In the middle of saying one important thing she’ll think of another that can’t wait and cut herself off. She lacks efficiency, using twice the time it should take to tell what needs telling.

When the words die out, she shuts up and stops in front of Phyl. The first words out of her mouth are unexpected.

“I’m sorry.” She kneads and squeezes the pillow.

“Sorry?”

“I told you I’d help you. Ages ago. And I haven’t done a single thing.”

“I never really said anything about it after that,” says Dan. “I didn’t ask you to do something and you refused.”

“But you were in pain every time we finished a case and I just let that happen.”

Dan hadn’t seen it that way. She still doesn’t, but she’s not going to tell Phyl she’s wrong. She lies down on the bed beside her, hands folded over her stomach like a corpse.

“Well, you can help me now, because I have no fucking idea what to do next.” 

Dan remembers something she forgot to mention. She pops up and grabs Phyl’s knee.

“I forgot! Alice said something weird to me. She said Prunella has ‘bad dreams’ and asked if I did too. What’s that about?”

Phyl scrunches up her face and is quiet for a moment. 

“I guess…I don’t think she’d mind me telling you. Basically, when Prunella was pregnant with Alice, she started having these really bizarre, kind of disturbing dreams. She thought it was just normal pregnancy anxiety, but then there were a lot of complications with the birth.”

She smooths her hands over the soft fabric of the pillowcase. Dan reaches out to pinch a corner and then they’re both moored to it.

“Anyway, everything was fine in the end, and the dreams stopped. But then when Alice was about five, I think? She started having dreams again. She told me she’d wake up screaming and scare Alice. It was really odd stuff like, Alice would have extra arms. Or she’d be growing bones out of places she shouldn’t, or crawl inside tiny places she had to twist her body into knots to fit into, and then Pru couldn’t pull her out.” Phyl sighs. “And then Alice fell out of a tree and broke her arm in two places. One was a compound fracture.”

Dan’s heart lurches, thinking about the nature of her own dreams.

“So, the dreams weren’t exactly straightforward, and we don’t know for sure that they were prophetic…but she said they felt different from any dream or nightmare she’d ever had. Since then she still has them on occasion, and sometimes things happen and sometimes they don’t. Or at least, not that she can directly link.”

Dan laughs darkly. “So maybe something terrible is going to happen or maybe it isn’t?”

Phyl shrugs. “That’s just life in general, isn’t it?” She shoves the pillow fully into Dan’s lap. “I can give you her number, and I’m sure she’d be open to discussion. As for the other issue…” She leaps off the bed and sprints from the room.

Dan doesn’t have time to react before she’s galloping back in, laptop in hand. She plops down near the head of the bed and gets to work at something. Dan crawls toward her.

“What are you doing?”

“Sending myself an invite to BTV.”

“What are you talking about?” Why would Phyl need an invite to a forum she has an account on?

“I want to message some people. Make a few inquiries about our situation. But I want to do it from a new account, so I’m not attached to it.”

“Because…?”

“I think you’ve realized by now that some of my practices are a little controversial, so for the sake of my reputation—” She winces. “Jesus. Did I really just say that? My _reputation_.”

“I know what you mean.” 

This is the first time Phyl has brought up the negative perception of her methods, and Dan wants to pounce and take the conversation further. But the timing isn’t right.

“Okay, so I’m going to make a new account, and then I can message people. I’ve been on here for a while so I have an idea of who’s knowledgeable and who might be helpful.”

Dan nods, though Phyl isn’t looking. She’s got her working face on—the one where her concentration almost looks like anger. Dan’s used to seeing it when she’s editing videos, intensifying as she nears deadlines. Her hunched shoulders support some of the weight Dan has carried alone for months. The deep crease between her brows and the dance of her fingers across the keys smooths out some of the worry in Dan. Phyl is in this with her. She’s determined. She’s here.

Dan leaves her to it, going out into the lounge and winding up on her own laptop. She supposes she could also message more people. But who, and why? Let Phyl handle it. For now. She opens up Instagram and scrolls mindlessly through her feed.

Then a post stops her. It’s from one of the dozens of queer people she followed after the double date at House of Wheels. They stand against a white brick wall, providing a perfect contrast to all the color they provide. Their hair and beard are dyed neon purple, with lipstick to match. They have the longest fake eyelashes Dan’s ever seen. A chest tattoo of a Pegasus is visible through the sheer mesh of their shirt. It flies outward, its wings curving over the top of their breasts.

The photo sticks a hook in her and she can’t look away. It’s not attraction, although they are beautiful. It’s something deeper, something that unsettles her. She likes the photo and quickly scrolls down.

A few minutes later she puts her laptop aside and goes to the kitchen, helping herself to some of Phyl’s salt and vinegar crisps. She eats a few and then puts the bag down and heads to the bathroom.

She looks at her face in the mirror, taking in the shape, size, and placement of her features. She used to hate some of them. Now and then she still does. She wiggles her eyebrows, purses her lips, bares her teeth. She runs her fingers along the soft lines of her jaw and tries to imagine what she’d look like with a beard. She looks stupid, but maybe that’s because she keeps seeing it as a big purple Santa beard held in place with string. 

Dan goes to Phyl, who’s still in the bedroom bent over her laptop. She stands just inside the doorway and waits for her to glance up.

“Do you ever wish you could just shapeshift?”

Phyl opens her mouth as if to speak and then closes it. She seems quite perplexed, which isn’t surprising considering the out-of-the-blue nature of Dan’s question.

“Like into a dragon? Or a wolf?”

“No, I mean more like Tonks.”

There’s no sign of recognition on Phyl’s face.

“You know, from_ Harry Potter?_”

“Right.”

“I just wish I could change shit up with my body whenever I want. Test things out.”

She’s trying to get at what the photo made her feel. Maybe if she explains it to Phyl, Dan will understand it herself. What would it be like to have facial hair? To be short. To be fat. To have no boobs or big boobs. She wants to take the putty of her body and all its embellishments and reshape it into something new. See if it suited her, if it felt right. And if it didn’t, she could just switch it back.

“Would you still be attracted to me if I had a beard?”

Phyl draws her hands away from the keyboard and twists her fingers together. Dan is struck with fear and regrets asking. She wants to tell Phyl she was joking, but she answers before she can.

“I think it would take some getting used to, but…I can’t imagine not being attracted to you.”

For the second time that day, Phyl pulls the tension out of her. Dan walks over to the bed and lies down, propping her head up on a pillow.

Phyl gives her a quizzical look. “Do you _want_ a beard?”

“I don’t know. I might hate it. I just think it would be cool to have the option.”

Phyl kisses her on the top of the head. “How about I buy you a beard for Christmas? Is rat hair okay?”

Dan smiles and jabs her in the arm. “Did you know you’re a terrible girlfriend? Like, quite possibly the worst.” She means the exact opposite.

Phyl blesses her with a big goofy grin.

“Yes, I know.” Her smile fades and she taps a finger against her lips. “However, I did just message five people about your ghost troubles, and I’m famished. Can you fetch your terrible girlfriend something to eat?”

“This is unbelievable,” says Dan, already sitting up and swinging herself out of bed. 

She brings Phyl the bag of crisps she abandoned on the counter. Phyl shakes it and frowns at her. 

“This is lighter than I remember. What have you done?”

“I only ate like six! You weirdo.”

Phyl giggles and stuffs some crisps in her mouth. Dan convinces her to put the laptop down and come into the lounge before she fills the bed with crumbs. Dan spends half her nights there; she’s not dealing with that shit.

On the sofa, bathed in the glow of the television, Dan gets drowsy. It doesn’t help that Phyl is running her fingers through her hair, slow and soothing. The other hand is deep in the bag of crisps, but even the crinkle and crunch can’t keep Dan awake. _No bad dreams please,_ she thinks, right before she falls asleep. _No dreams about Phyl unless they’re good ones. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading!
> 
> [ reblog on tumblr ](https://velvetnautilus.tumblr.com/private/614764780280004608/tumblr_V7u3MsJlrqywsTS9i)


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> an element of this chapter (i won't say which one) was inspired by Sarah Waters' novel _ The Little Stranger _, which is a very good and scary book. definitely scarier than this. also less gay, which is surprising for a Sarah Waters' book. anyway...
> 
> this story is now the longest fic i've ever written, and will soon be the longest single work of fiction i've ever written. i've always wanted to write a long fic and i'm happy that this is headed in that direction. big thank you to everyone who's been reading along!

_ Dear Happy Phantoms, _

_ I feel a bit ridiculous writing this to you but I don’t know what else to do. We have a ghost problem. I think it’s a ghost. I feel sick with dread all the time, so much so that I can barely eat or concentrate on anything or sleep through the night. My little brother feels it too but he also hears things. He says he hears the ghost screaming. The ghost has built or moved a little cupboard into the house and it’s an awful thing. I don’t know how to explain. Our parents died years ago but I don’t want to leave their house if we can help it. I really hope you can help us. _

_ Thank you, _

_ Rita Shah-Monroe _

“What the fuck?” says Dan, when she finishes reading the email over Phyl’s shoulder.

“I know.”

Dan skims over the paragraph once more just in case she misread something. Nope.

“What does ‘moved or built a little cupboard’ mean? Can ghosts even do something like that?”

“Well, moving things around, yes. Within reason. But I have no idea about  _ building _ anything.”

Dan imagines someone draped in a white sheet comically sawing and hammering away at planks of wood. Or maybe it would be more like lying awake at night hearing the drag of a rusty saw pulled by a phantom hand, the hammer blows matching the thump of your heart. What would be scarier—the sound continuing without end, or stopping and implying whatever it was might be finished and ready for the next step?

“We’re taking the case, right?”

“Of course.”

The Shah-Monroes live in a residential neighborhood not far outside of London. The grand size of the houses and the amount of space between each one indicates a certain level of wealth. Dan drives slowly past the sprawling gardens, hoping the Mystery Machine doesn’t look too suspicious. Rita emailed them a photo of the house to make it easier to find the right one, and Phyl looks at it on her phone and directs Dan.

“Not that one…not that one…keep going…there!”

Dan brakes. The houses are all quite similar, especially in the dark. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, look.” She shoves the phone at Dan.

The photo was taken during the day, so it isn’t much help, but it looks close enough. And the house in question has lights on, which is a good sign. Dan pushes the phone away from her face and starts to pull up the long drive.

As they near the end, a shadow by the door takes the form of a woman. It’s a cold night, and Dan’s surprised to see her waiting there. She has a cigarette between her fingers, and when they park she stubs it out in the soil of a barren plant pot.

“Are you Phyl?” she asks, as Dan steps out of the van.

“Nope,” says Phyl, tumbling out of the passenger side. “That’s me. This is Dan.”

The woman nods and rubs her fingers together. She glances at the plant pot like she really regrets abandoning her cigarette.

“You must be Rita,” says Dan, doing her best to smile encouragingly. Rita’s eyes keep darting between them, to the van, to the street. Her eyebrows are fixed like someone’s tied them together with string and pulled it tight. Phyl stands with Rita and they make small talk while Dan goes around to the back of the van and retrieves the buggy.

When Dan wheels it around front, Rita looks at it, nods to herself, and reaches to open the door behind her without looking.

“I suppose we might as well go inside…”

Dan and Phyl follow her into the warm interior of the house. The door closes with a heavy finality behind them.

“I tried the fan thing,” Rita says, “It didn’t work.”

Phyl had told Rita that sometimes ghosts that cause physical disturbances can be temporarily appeased by disturbances orchestrated by humans. Such as setting up a bunch of fans on high and letting them blow things around.

“Sorry, it was a bit of a long shot.”

“That’s alright,” she says, running a hand through her hair. “I guess I should show you it now.”

Rita looks over to the entryway of a dark room. Dan can make out the lumpy, undefined shapes of furniture hidden in the gloom. In contrast, the foyer they’re standing in is bathed in light. It forms puddles on the glossy parquet floors and runs in a thin stream down the polished banister of a spiral staircase.

“You mean the cupboard?” asks Dan. She feels silly saying it aloud. She doesn’t know about Phyl, but so far she hasn’t experienced the slightest inkling of anything sinister. The hair doesn’t stand up on the back of her neck, her mouth doesn’t run dry, and her pulse doesn’t quicken.

“Are you the ghost hunters?”

Dan’s head snaps up. At the top of the staircase, a teenage boy leans over the bannister looking down at them.

“We’re here to help remove the ghost,” Phyl says placidly, avoiding saying yes to the hunter part. Dan suppresses a smirk.

The boy bounds down the stairs, landing beside Rita with a thud. He’s a head taller than his sister.

“Oliver,” he says, extending a hand for Phyl and then Dan to shake. His voice is solemn, but his face bears no sign of fear. He almost looks excited. But the slight twitch in his right eye and the jerkiness to his movements suggest he’s in need of sleep.

“I was just about to show them,” says Rita, “but maybe you’d like to?” It’s more of a plea than an offer.

Oliver nods eagerly. “Yes!”

“I’m going to go lie down,” she says with a tight smile. They all watch as she turns away and drifts up the staircase. When she disappears, Oliver deflates.

“I’m trying to keep up morale, but it’s not easy,” he says. “She cries all the time because she doesn’t want to leave here.”

Dan must not be as good at reading people as she thought, because it’s clear now that Oliver was putting on a show. His shoulders slump and he wraps his arms around himself.

“One of you can hear them, right?” he asks the floor.

“Yes,” says Phyl. “I can.”

“Right now?”

“Yes.”

“Screaming?”

Phyl frowns. “No…I wouldn’t call it screaming. It’s more like people talking loudly in an adjacent room, but the sound is muffled by the wall.”

He looks back up, gazing at Phyl intensely. Dan might as well not be there.

“Why? Why don’t you hear what I hear? Rita doesn’t hear it either, but I kind of thought I was special, you know? Like a medium or whatever you are. But if it’s not ghosts then what am I hearing?” He speaks rapidly without pausing for breath.

“It probably still is the ghost!” Phyl reassures him. “Just because it sounds one way to you doesn’t mean it’ll sound that way to someone else.”

“So, you’re saying maybe I do have ghost sensing abilities?”

“Sounds like it!”

Dan raises an eyebrow at that, but neither of them are looking at her. She and Phyl had discussed this after reading Rita’s initial email and some of her responses, but Dan hadn’t expected Phyl to say it with such enthusiasm.

Dan can’t get a hold on anything. She doesn’t sense any presence, she doesn’t hear any ghosts, and she doesn’t know what Phyl is thinking.

“You were going to show us the cupboard?” she asks.

Oliver looks away from Phyl and grimaces. “Right. Might as well get it over with.”

He leads them slowly toward the dark room, filling the short distance with words.

“We have no idea where it came from. One day it just appeared here. Rita thought I’d brought it in, but obviously I didn’t, and at least she believed me when I told her about the ghosts yelling all the time. I wasn’t sure what they were until I looked online and found some videos of people talking about ghosts, but none of them ever said anything about something like this.”

He reaches into the room—arm swallowed up by the shadows—and flicks on a light switch. They follow him in.

All the furniture is veiled in plastic dust covers sporting a fine gray film. What appears to be an upright piano against the far wall catches Dan’s eye. The curtains are drawn, the lamplight is weak, and there’s no heat. It’s like stepping into a crypt.

In the center of the room, a small, unassuming wooden box sits alone.

When Dan looks at it, she’s overcome with an inexplicable sense of  _ wrongness _ . It shouldn’t be there. It shouldn’t be at all. All her earlier nonchalance vanishes. The whole rest of the house detaches and there’s only this room and this evil little cupboard. A sensation akin to sleep paralysis takes hold of her. She wants to move or look away, but she can’t.

The three stand there frozen for an agonizing moment. Then Phyl sucks in a deep, gasping breath and Dan is able to look at her.

Phyl claws at the collar of her shirt and gulps in air.

“Are you okay?” asks Dan. The words are slurred and heavy in her mouth, her voice unfamiliar. She doesn’t sound as concerned as she is.

Oliver is on the other side of Phyl, his hands pressed over his ears. He’s still looking at the cupboard. His lips mouth silent words.

There’s so little space between Dan and Phyl, but it seems impossible to cross it. Something pulls her away like a riptide. Phyl bends at the waist, eyes wild with fear, and right before Dan reaches her, the atmosphere changes. It’s like a valve is opened, and all the pressure leaks out. Oliver lowers his hands. Phyl unbends and Dan lays a hand on her back.

“Are you okay?” she asks again, and this time she doesn’t sound like a stranger. Phyl swallows and nods.

Dan directs her next question at Oliver. “What the actual fuck was that?”

“That time was really bad. Maybe because you’re new. I think the first time you enter the room everything goes a little wonky.”

“I’d say that was more than ‘a little wonky.”

He shrugs and moves closer to the cupboard. To Dan’s surprise, Phyl follows without hesitation, which forces Dan to join them.

They all crouch down on the floor, a respectable distance from the cupboard. They observe but don’t touch. There’s no physical barrier preventing them from doing so, but Dan would sooner stick her hand in a pot of boiling water.

It’s made of unfinished wood, with what appears to be a little hinged door on the front.

“I don’t suppose you’ve tried opening it?” she asks.

“No,” says Oliver. “Would you?”

Dan smiles. “No, probably not.”

“And it just appeared here? Out of nowhere?” says Phyl. “You’ve never seen it before?”

“Yeah. It was so weird. We basically never use this room, but one day Rita said she was just drawn to it, like something just made her go check. And there it was. Leading up to that I started hearing things, and I told her I thought the house might be haunted, but I don’t think she believed me until this showed up and she felt it too. Even I wasn’t sure at first because I have an uncle who’s had auditory hallucinations, but I’ve talked to him about those and I just knew almost instinctively that that’s not what’s happening to me. You know?”

He looks at them expectantly.

Dan clears her throat. “Yeah, I…before I started working with Phyl my flat was haunted. I didn’t believe in ghosts up until that point, but like you I just knew it had to be that.”

“But you really don’t hear them the way we do?”

“No,” she says, trying not to sound annoyed.

“Let’s set up camp,” says Phyl cheerily.

Oliver is excited to help. Phyl lets him push the buggy and Dan rolls her eyes at her. They spread out their sleeping bags and set up the red lamp. Oliver insists on joining them for the night, and runs upstairs to get his own sleeping bag.

Dan listens to his loud feet ascending the stairs.

“Are you sure about this?” she asks Phyl.

“It should be fine. Sometimes you really want the client as far away as possible, but other times they can be helpful. And I’ve never worked with a client who could hear ghosts before.”

“Okay.”

“Are  _ you _ okay with it?” Phyl asks with concern. “I’m not in charge. If you don’t want him here, I’m fine with that, and we can tell him no.”

“Nah, it’s cool.” And it is. Dan’s not actually jealous of some kid. “Besides, you let me join you when you were on my case,” she says with a smile.

“Best business decision I ever made.”

Dan pushes her shoulder. “Business decision…shut up.”

Phyl giggles and sticks her tongue out.

Oliver returns. They put the lamp as close to the cupboard as they dare. He’s just about to turn off the room light when he stops and shouts, making Dan and Phyl jump.

“I almost forgot!”

“For fuck’s sake,” Dan mutters.

Oliver crosses the room to the shrouded piano and pulls the bench out from under the dust cover. He pushes it about as close to the cupboard as the lamp is. He points upward.

“Look at this.”

On the ceiling, directly above the cupboard, is a round black spot about the size of the cupboard itself.

He pats the bench. “You’ll want to look closer.”

Dan sighs. She’s not sure she does. But when Phyl stands up she follows suit.

Dan hovers while Phyl gets up on the bench, wobbling even though the surface is flat and sturdy. Phyl reaches a hand toward the spot but draws it back without touching. “What is it? It looks like…”

“A burn, right? It appeared the day after the cupboard.”

“Was there a fire?”

“We didn’t see or smell anything.”

“Let me see,” says Dan.

Phyl steps down, steadying herself with a hand on Dan’s arm. Dan steps up onto the bench.

It does appear to be a burn. The brown edges of the black spot fade out into the off-white paint of the ceiling. Dan looks down at the top of the cabinet directly below the burn. Her head swims and she almost steps backwards right off the bench.

“Dan!” says Phyl, grabbing her calf.

“I’m fine.”

She bends and gets down carefully.

“So, we have a mysterious box, a mysterious burn, and screaming ghosts?” she says. “Cool.”

“Nothing we can’t handle,” says Phyl, and Dan wonders which of the three she’s most trying to reassure.

Oliver has a million questions for Phyl (and to a lesser extent, Dan). He wants to know how long they’ve been hunting ghosts, how they do it, what other kinds of cases they’ve taken, if they’ve ever failed to catch a ghost. He asks how the buggy works, how the lamp works, how the van works. (“It’s just a normal car.”) Phyl answers every question with perfect patience.

“What are those for?” he asks, pointing at the headphones around Dan’s neck. “You’re not listening to music.”

Dan looks at Phyl, unsure how to explain, but she remains quiet.

“Well,” Dan says. “There’s this noise I hear when Phyl puts the ghost in the buggy…”

“What kind of noise?”

“A really fucking loud one.”

“From a ghost?”

Dan looks at Phyl again, and this time she jumps in to help.

“We’re not sure what it is. Only Dan hears it. So she doesn’t sense things quite like us, but she has her own abilities.”

_ Some ability _ , Dan thinks.  _ Super helpful _ .

Oliver accepts this explanation. “Maybe I’ll hear it too!”

Dan very much doubts that.

Out of the corner of her eye, the cupboard pulses once.

“Did you see that?”

Phyl and Oliver look at her blankly. “See what?”

“The cupboard! It moved.”

“It’s in the exact same place,” says Oliver.

“Fine, it didn’t  _ move _ , it just changed. Like it swelled for a second.”

They all stare at the cupboard. It sits motionless in the red light.

“Maybe nothing will happen while we’re looking directly at it,” says Phyl.

Dan appreciates that Phyl doesn’t suggest she may have been mistaken. Even though it’s a logical conclusion.

“They’re getting loud again,” says Oliver. He winces and puts his hands over his ears. “Why do they have to yell like that?”

Phyl puts a hand on her chest. “They’re not loud to me, but I hear them too. I can feel the vibrations.”

Dan lifts the headphones from her neck and holds them out to Oliver. “Here. See if these help.”

He takes them hesitantly and puts them over his ears.

“Can you still hear them?” asks Dan.

“What?” He takes them off. “I can’t hear you.”

“But can you hear the ghosts?”

“Oh.” He puts the headphones back on for a moment, then takes them off again. “I can still hear them, but it’s a lot quieter.”

“You can wear those for now then. I don’t need them yet.”

He frowns. “But then I can’t talk to you guys.”

Dan rolls her eyes. Phyl laughs. “Maybe we should all be quiet now and concentrate. Too much distraction could keep us from figuring this out.”

Oliver looks about to protest, but then he shuts his mouth and puts the headphones back on. Phyl lies down on her sleeping bag, facing the cupboard.

Dan watches for another pulse, but nothing happens.

At some point Dan looks away from the cupboard and sees that Phyl has fallen asleep. She smiles. So much for concentrating. Oliver is still awake, keeping vigil with Dan.

Dan must fall asleep soon after that, because suddenly she’s waking up with a start. She sits up and looks around. Phyl is still asleep. So is Oliver; Dan’s headphones lie on the floor by his head. So they’d all been sleeping unguarded and unaware beside that thing for who knows how long.

The red bulb explodes with a loud pop, plunging the room into darkness. Dan shrieks.

“What?! What?!” Phyl cries.

“What’s going on?” says Oliver. “Why’s it so dark?”

Dan catches her breath. “The bulb…” she feels around for her phone, fingers sliding over the slippery material of her sleeping bag until they bump up against hard plastic. She grabs it and hurries to turn on the torch. “The bulb just blew.”

She moves the light slowly, almost afraid to shine it on the cupboard. But when she does, nothing about it appears to have changed. This does nothing to ease her fear.

“Be careful,” she says. “There’s glass everywhere.” She picks a piece off her sleeping bag.

“Ow,” says Phyl, seconds later. Dan shines the light on her. She holds her finger up and a thin line of blood runs down to her knuckle. “I was looking for my phone.”

Dan groans. “Okay, hold on.” They always carry first aid supplies in one of the backpacks.

Another light comes on. Oliver’s got his phone out “I’ll go get plasters!” he says, starting to stand.

“No!” Dan snaps, and he freezes, eyes wide. “Sorry. Just sit down, okay? I have plasters here, so you don’t need to go running over any glass.”

“I can at least turn on the light,” he says. “I’ll be careful and use my phone to see if there’s any glass. That’s fine right?”

Dan has no idea why he’s deferring to her. Most teenagers would be more defiant.

“That’s fine. Just be careful.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Dan cringes. “Don’t fucking call me  _ ma’am _ .”

“Sorry.”

He tiptoes across the room and turns on the light.

Dan blinks until she can see properly. Then she drags her bag toward her and unzips it. She pulls out the first aid kit and shuffles on her knees toward Phyl.

“Alright, Doctor Dan is here. Let’s see it.”

Phyl holds out her finger. The cut is short and shallow. Dan cleans the wound and wraps a plaster around it. Phyl wiggles her fingers and smiles.

“Thank you.”

Oliver made his way back to his sleeping bag while Dan was tending to Phyl.

‘Why did the bulb explode?” he asks. “Did something happen with the battery or was it a ghost thing?”

“That’s the question,” says Phyl.

Besides the bulb, the little lamp looks normal. Dan reaches out. It’s cold to the touch. She picks it up and brings it close.

Phyl and Oliver watch as Dan flips it over and opens up the battery compartment in the base. Everything is as it should be.

And if everything is as it should be with the lamp, then…

Dan feels like she’s being watched. Not by Phyl or Oliver, but something else. She jerks her head up and looks at the cupboard. The door is facing directly at her. It wasn’t turned like that before, was it? Surely she would have noticed. No, it was. It must have been.

“Oliver,” whispers Phyl. “Do you hear anything?”

“No. Nothing.”

“Neither do I.”

They stare at the cupboard. Fear thickens the air, and Dan has to breathe in deep through her nose. It’s not like when they walked in. That was more of a shock, a sudden terror. This is a dread that has settled deep in her stomach, a horror that has taken root. A sense of inevitability. The question isn’t if something bad will happen, but when.

“Should I get my sister?” Oliver whispers. If there was any other noise in the room, his voice would be inaudible.

Dan doesn’t see how that would help, but she can’t form the words to say so. Phyl shakes her head.

An idea takes hold of Dan. Phyl is going to try and open the cupboard door. She doesn’t say that, and she’s not even moving, but Dan  _ knows _ . Phyl is going to reach out any second, and Dan needs to stop her.

“We need to get out of this room,” says Phyl. She stands up, and when Dan and Oliver don’t immediately do the same, she stomps her foot. “Right now!”

“Okay, okay.”

They stand up. Phyl doesn’t move.

“What are you waiting for?” she says, waving them toward the door. “Go on.”

“What about you?” asks Oliver.

“I’ll be right behind you. I just want to make sure you don’t stay.”

Dan feels exactly the same. She’s afraid if she leaves, Phyl won’t follow. Or she’ll wait till their backs are turned and then do something stupid, like open the cupboard.

She grabs Phyl’s hand. “We’re leaving together. Come on, Oliver. Mind the glass.”

Phyl laughs and pulls her hand away. “Fine, altogether then.”

They step gingerly around the glass. When they reach the entrance, Dan has to maneuver the buggy out of the way. she pushes it aside and looks back over her shoulder. Oliver is right beside her, but Phyl isn’t. She’s walking back to the cupboard, not even looking where she puts her feet.

“Phyl! What the fuck are you doing—”

The cupboard bursts into flames.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> to be continued...
> 
> thanks for reading!
> 
> [ reblog ](https://velvetnautilus.tumblr.com/private/617013861425561600/tumblr_4nTJOKmq8ybyz6qDk)


	13. Chapter 13

The flames rise in a pillar to the ceiling, and the burn expands like a dark mouth opening wide. Phyl drops to the floor by the box, her blank face lit up with an orange glow. She starts to raise her hands.

Oliver runs from the room and Dan runs toward Phyl. She’s not thinking about the ghost, and if she was, she wouldn’t care. Dan barrels at her without a plan, clumsily tackling her onto a sleeping bag.

She looks down at Phyl and Phyl looks up at her, flushed red from the heat. She looks furious, face contorted with rage in a way Dan has never seen or even dreamed. Dan blinks and Phyl’s expression smooths out again. She tries to sit up and scramble backwards, pulling at Dan’s arms.

Dan can see the flames behind her reflected in Phyl’s wide eyes, and the intensity of the heat has transitioned from uncomfortable to painful. She chokes on a mouthful of smoke. They need to get out of there.

Icy cold water splashes across Dan’s back and takes the breath right out of her. It’s so shocking she doesn’t move at first. She just stays gasping while dripping water on Phyl, who manages to squirm away. Then Dan shifts to look behind her.

Oliver is standing there open-mouthed, holding a big cooking pot from which he’s just poured water all over the fire.

“Nice job,” Dan says quietly.

He sits slowly, still holding onto the pot.

“Wow. That was—that was crazy. Does that happen a lot?”

“No,” said Phyl, “I can’t say it does.”

Dan’s eyes drift to the cupboard. The wood is burnt black, along with some of the floor around it. It’s somehow less sinister like this. It no longer looks like something human hands crafted with care and precision. With a sense of purpose that doesn’t square with what Dan knows about ghosts. Now it’s small and clumsy, and she’s not afraid to reach out and touch it.

Before she has a chance to, the cupboard crumbles to ashes before their eyes. Phyl makes a soft sound of surprise and Oliver whispers  _ Wow _ again. In an instant, without ceremony, the dreaded thing becomes a wet stain.

But Phyl hasn’t absorbed anything, and the buggy is open and empty.

“What happened to the ghost?” Dan asks.

“Well, now it’s gone,” says Phyl.

“Gone?”

“It’s somewhere else in the house,” says Oliver.

“Okay, well, where in the house?” Dan doesn’t like the idea that now it could be anywhere. At least before it was contained to one room, one object. Now it’s escaped.

Phyl shrugs and looks at Oliver. He shakes his head.

“Great.”

Phyl pushes her wet hair out of her face. “Okay, first thing, before we go wandering around, we should sort ourselves out a little. “Oliver, can you bring us some towels?”

“Right away!” He springs to his feet and leaves, still clutching the pot like a shield.

“That was bad,” says Phyl, once he’s gone. She rubs her face. “That was really bad.”

“Oh, really? You think so?” says Dan. Then she softens a bit. “Did you cut yourself anywhere?”

“I don’t think so,” says Phyl, lifting her arms and twisting about to look at her body. “I didn’t feel anything.”

As she’s moving, something on the bottom of her foot catches the light.

Dan leans forward and grabs her ankle. “Hold still. “

Some little pieces of glass cling to the fabric of her sock, glittering like diamonds amongst the frolicking corgis. Phyl lifts her other foot for examination, and Dan finds a few there as well. None of the fragments have made it through the fabric and into her skin.

Dan gets a pair of tweezers out of the first aid kit and instructs Phyl to sit very still so she can remove the glass.

“Why don’t I just take my socks off?”

“Because you’ll probably do it wrong and end up rubbing the glass into your flesh or something.”

“How can you take socks off wrong?” She laughs, but she doesn’t move.

“It’s a  _ miracle  _ you didn’t get any glass in your foot,” Dan chides. She removes the bits of glass with more delicacy than the task requires. “And that you didn’t get burned. What the hell were you thinking?”

“I could tell the ghost was there. I didn’t know the box was going to light on fire.” Phyl peels off the sock Dan’s finished with and wiggles her toes, frowning.

_ Yes, but you didn’t move away _ , Dan thinks.  _ It started burning and you just sat there. _ She doesn’t say any more.

Oliver returns just as Dan’s beginning to wonder why it’s taking him so long to find a couple towels. He enters the room carrying a laundry basket laden with at least four of them.

“Most of our towels were dirty so I had to hunt for these clean ones,” he says, lowering the basket to the ground. “I felt… _ weird  _ walking around. Like I was going to stumble upon something any second, but I never did.”

They thank him for the towels, and then Phyl asks him sweetly to leave again so they can get changed, and he runs from the room saying something about getting a broom.

“There better not be any ghosts watching,” Dan says, as she towels off and puts on her pajamas. “I am not in the mood.”

“I think we’re alone,” says Phyl, tugging on a pair of fresh socks.

When they’re dressed, Dan pokes her head out of the room. She can’t see Oliver anywhere.

“Oliver?” she calls, trying not to be too loud.

A voice returns from some unknown direction. “Yes?”

“You can come back now,” she answers, hoping it’s Oliver. It sounds like him, but she doesn’t trust this ghost.

She hears footsteps approaching and ducks back inside. She can’t look. If there’s something else out there she doesn’t want to see it. She squeezes her eyes shut and when she opens them, Oliver is coming in, broom and dustpan in hand. She breathes a sigh of relief and flexes her fingers. She hadn’t realized she’d been clenching her fists so tight.

Oliver sweeps up the glass but avoids the wet ashes.

“What now?” he asks, when the pieces are all nestled in the back of the dustpan.

Dan turns to Phyl. She’s been sitting quietly, concentrating. She looks a little angry, but Dan knows she isn’t. Not like before.

“We need to find the ghost. Wherever it’s gone.” She clears her throat. “Did you get any idea as to a location out there?” she asks Oliver.

“No, I could feel it and hear it a little, but I don’t know where.”

The house is large, and the ghost could be anywhere. Maybe Phyl will be better than Oliver at detecting its whereabouts. From the look on her face, Dan’s not so sure.

“So basically, we have to play hide and seek with this little shit,” says Dan, and Phyl smiles faintly.

She stands and offers a hand to Phyl. “We might as well begin.”

“You’re right,” says Phyl, though she sounds reluctant.

“Oliver, you’re on buggy duty,” says Dan. He was excited to push it around earlier, so he’ll probably enjoy having that responsibility.

His face lights up. “Okay!”

Just before they leave the room, Phyl reminds Dan to grab her headphones.

They begin their search. Oliver directs them from room to room on the lower floor. Dan carries a little torch from her backpack and Phyl uses her phone. They don’t turn on any lights apart from the ones already on in the foyer. The other rooms spread out like petals from the center, so they make their way around in a circle.

They barely speak. Instead they communicate in raised brows and head shakes. Every time they peek into a room or cross a threshold, Dan’s pulse quickens and her grip tightens on the torch. They sweep each room with their lights, revealing objects both mundane and luxurious, but nothing out of the ordinary. No phantom cupboards or new items of any kind. The unbroken tension builds and builds. She half wishes something would jump out and get it over with.

They cover the entire floor without Phyl or Oliver sensing the definite location of the ghost. They can all feel something in the air—a fog of unease that spreads throughout the building—but they can’t pinpoint the source.

“So, I guess we’re going upstairs now?” says Dan.

“That seems like our only option,” Phyl replies. She looks at Oliver. “Is that alright?”

He nods. “I just hope it’s not in Rita’s room.”

“I’m surprised she hasn’t woken up.” Dan had nearly forgotten there was another person in the house with them. They haven’t been making an inordinate amount of noise, but they have been moving all around the house. And there was a fire.

“She takes sleeping pills. They really knock her out for about eight to nine hours. It’s the only way she can sleep since the ghost.”

Getting the buggy up the stairs is a pain. Dan and Phyl have done it before on other cases, but this staircase is particularly tall and winding. Dan pulls the buggy by its handle while walking backwards, guided by Phyl, while Oliver lifts from the other side. The sound of the wheels hitting the stairs is booming in the eerily quiet house and makes Dan cringe. Even if Rita doesn’t wake up, she can’t shake the feeling that it’s dangerous to be overheard.

They heave the buggy up the last step. Dan moves toward a railing to the right of the stairs and gazes down at the floor below. It’s a dizzying view. The geometric pattern of the flooring seems to spin, and she has to look away.

“We can check my room first,” Oliver whispers, pointing down the hall to the left.

“Lead the way,” Phyl whispers back.

They leave the buggy by the stairs and move down the hall in single file—Oliver, then Phyl, then Dan. Unlike the hall to the right that begins with an open balcony, the left path is narrow and enclosed from the start.

They never make it to Oliver’s bedroom, because halfway there they pass a linen closet. Oliver puts his hands over his ears, and Dan nearly runs into Phyl when she stops short in front of her. The door to the closet is simple and plain, just white paint and a brass knob.

They don’t have to say anything to one another to know that they’ve found the ghost at last. Even Dan is sure of it. She can’t hear what Oliver and Phyl hear, but she can feel the presence. It’s like the ghost is a magnet trying to suck all the air in her lungs and the blood in her veins through the door and into the closet. She’s dizzy again and nauseated, but she couldn’t run away even if she wanted to.

Oliver still has his hands over his ears, and his face is screwed up in pain. Phyl looks dazed, and her mouth hangs open as she pants. Dan remembers what happened to her earlier when they entered the room with the cupboard.

“I’ll open it,” Dan whispers. She doesn’t want to, but someone has to, and she’s currently the least affected. “On three, okay?”

She’s not sure if Oliver can hear her, so she points at the doorknob and holds up three fingers. He nods. Phyl just stares straight ahead, fingers twitching at her sides. Dan squeezes past her to get access to the door, and Oliver backs farther down the hall to make room for it to open.

Dan puts her hand on the doorknob. It’s cold against her clammy palm. The door contracts and expands ever so slightly, like it’s breathing. It’s so subtle; it could be Dan’s imagination.

“One…two…three…”

She twists the doorknob and swings the door wide. Better to do it that way than let it creak open torturously slow.

There are three shelves, with linens neatly folded and arranged. Lidded wicker baskets sit below the bottom shelf. Oliver lowers his hands and leans closer to Dan to look inside.

“See anything amiss?” she asks him.

“No, nothing, except…” He points at one of the baskets. “I feel like there could be something in there.”

Another thing to open, and Dan really doesn’t want to do it this time.

“It is,” Phyl croaks. She still seems out of it, but her breathing is no longer labored. “It’s there.”

“Let’s open it together,” Oliver says to Dan.

It seems silly, but she reaches out when he does and they pull the basket forward. They hesitate, hands on either side of the lid.

“On three?”

“Okay.”

Oliver counts down, and then they flip up the lid.

Before Dan has a chance to fully see and process what’s inside that dark space, her attention is pulled away by the sound of Phyl dropping to her knees with a heavy thump.

This is it. Phyl crawls toward the closet and Dan steps out of her way, pushing Oliver back as well.

“What’s happening? What is she do—”

Phyl lifts her arms and Oliver stops speaking as they watch her swallow the ghost. She rises, white-eyed, and turns to stalk back down the hall toward the buggy. Dan and Oliver follow.

Dan doesn’t realize until it’s almost too late that Phyl’s trajectory is off. Her right foot is going to slip from the top step before she reaches the buggy, and she’ll fall.

“Shit!”

Dan rushes forward and grabs her by the shoulders. She can feel heat burning through to her hands, but she grits her teeth and holds on tight. Phyl stumbles a bit as Dan roughly steers her in the right direction, but when Dan lets go, hands throbbing, Phyl is where she should be, ready to kneel before the buggy.

Dan swings her headphones up onto her ears. She’s vaguely aware of Oliver standing beside her. She closes her eyes and doesn’t open them until it’s over.

“That was incredible!” says Oliver. “That was—that was— _ wow. _ ”

Phyl stands slowly and rolls her neck. She laughs. “Thanks.”

“Did you hear it?” Dan asks Oliver, suddenly desperate for the answer. “Did you hear that terrible sound?”

“No, sorry. I didn’t hear anything.”

Of course he didn’t. No one does.

Down the hall in front of them a door opens, and Rita steps out. She has her arms wrapped tight around herself.

“I felt something. Is it finished? Please.”

“It is,” says Phyl. “We caught the ghost.”

Rita covers her face with her hands and starts to cry. Oliver goes to her and puts an arm around her shaking shoulders.

“I thought this would never end,” she sobs. “I thought we’d have to leave.”

When Rita composes herself, they all go downstairs to look into the room where it all began. Rita takes in the scorched floor and ceiling.

“I’m going to have people out here as soon as possible,” she says, “to tear this room apart. I want the whole thing redone.”

“Can I pick the paint color?” asks Oliver.

“You can design the whole damn room if you like,” she says with a smile.

Dan sleeps soundly that night, tucked into the big guest bed beside Phyl. Her palms are red and puffy, but she’s so weary from the night’s drama that even the nagging pain can’t keep her awake.

In the morning Rita insists on making them breakfast. Her demeanor is completely changed from the day before. Her eyes are still red, and shadows sit beneath them, but smiles frequent her face. Oliver is quiet and eats only a little before going back upstairs. Dan suspects he’s not a morning person.

When they’re packed up and about ready to leave, he still hasn’t come back down.

“Let me get him,” says Rita. “I’m sure he wants to say goodbye.”

She disappears for a minute and then returns alone.

“He’ll be right down. He’s just getting dressed.”

Phyl answers some questions Rita has about the final payment, and then the three of them say their goodbyes and she goes back inside.

Oliver arrives not long after. He’s wearing a collared shirt and crooked tie and is slightly out of breath.

“Here you go,” he says, handing Phyl a sheet of paper. Dan sees  _ Oliver Shah-Monroe _ centered at the top with his address and some short, bulleted paragraphs below.

“What’s this?” says Phyl.

“It’s my CV. I know I don’t have much job experience, but I think my special abilities and the skills I’ve listed make up for it.”

“But why are you giving me this?” she asks, still bewildered.

Oliver looks at them both nervously. “Because I want to work with you.”

“Work with us?”

“Yeah, with Happy Phantoms. I want you to hire me.”

“Oh. Well, I don’t know…”

“How old are you?” Dan asks. She can see on his CV that he hasn’t graduated yet.

He raises his chin. “I turn eighteen in five weeks.”

Dan and Phyl exchange a glance.

“Listen,” Phyl says gently, and Oliver’s face falls. “In five weeks, if you still want a job, you can reach out to us. Right, Dan?”

“Yeah, definitely.” Dan isn’t sure how serious Phyl is, but she agrees that there’s no reason to upset Oliver right now. In five weeks he might not even care anymore.

“For now,” Phyl says, taking her phone out of her pocket. “Do you have an email address?”

“I do. It’s on the CV.”

Dan snorts and Phyl looks down at the paper in her hand. “Oops. Okay, I’m going to send you an email as soon as I can with an invite to a forum I think you’ll like. All about ghosts and people like us.”

His woebegone expression is replaced by a smile in an instant. Dan smiles too, because Phyl is so earnest and kind.

With that promise, Oliver lets them go, waving while they get in the Mystery Machine and then heading inside.

“Well,” says Phyl, tilting her head back against the seat. “That case was weird.”

“Bit of an understatement.”

“I wonder if a ghost really made that thing. Or if it was even real at all. What if it was just an intense illusion, and they’re walking into the room right now to find no evidence anything ever happened?”

Dan groans. “I really can’t think about that right now.”

She starts up the van and reaches for the steering wheel, gripping it tightly without thinking. She winces and pulls her sore hands away. She’s been doing shit like that all morning and last night. This time, Phyl notices.

“What happened?” she cries, grabbing Dan’s wrist and flipping her hand over.

Dan resists the urge to yank it away.

“I must’ve burned them when the cupboard was on fire,” she says. “I got too close or I touched something hot. I dunno.” The lie comes easily. “So at least the fire was real.”

“Does it hurt? Are you okay to drive?”

Dan rolls her eyes and removes Phyl’s fingers from around her wrist. “I’m fine. It’s just superficial. In a day or two it’ll be all healed.”

Phyl studies her like she knows Dan’s not being completely honest, but she can’t solve the puzzle of why and how. Dan looks straight ahead and puts her hands back on the wheel.

“Let’s just go home and celebrate.”

“After we put some ointment on your hands.”

“How are we going to celebrate properly if I’ve got some gross ointment all over my hands?”

Phyl smacks her shoulder. “Go on. My hands will do just fine.”

Dan turns the Mystery Machine around and starts down the drive. When they reach the street, she takes one last look at the house through the side-view mirror. It’s thoroughly unremarkable.

“Can you plug my phone in?” she says to Phyl. “We need some bops.”

They drive away with the music blaring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading!
> 
> i'm gonna try to reply to comments going forward, because you wip readers have been very sweet and i want to. animal emojis are signs of gratitude.
> 
> [ reblog on tumblr ](https://velvetnautilus.tumblr.com/private/618132676608720896/tumblr_YqEQIsrtcXEwzwMAj)


	14. Chapter 14

It’s not busy at House of Wheels on Thursday afternoon. A few couples, some solo skaters, and some parents with young children. The rink is all ages when it’s not hosting special nighttime events for adults. Dan sits across from AJ, a basket of chips on the table between them. She eats mechanically, feeling the sting of the salt on her lips but barely tasting it on her tongue.

They ended up here almost by accident, coming back from a movie that landed them in the area. AJ had off from work and asked Dan to go out with her sans girlfriends. Just two friends having fun and spending one on one time together, which they didn’t do nearly as much these days as when they were both single. And Dan had been having fun, until now.

Her thoughts run in circles like the skaters gliding around the rink. The loud overhead music leaves no breathing room between each thought. She reaches for another chip and then changes her mind, drawing her greasy hands back and folding them on her lap beneath the table. Across the room a child scream-laughs, and she winces.

“Are you alright?” asks AJ. Dan has completely dropped out of the conversation they were having.

Dan lifts her hands back to the table and lays them flat, fingers spread. She keeps her eyes down.

“Ghosts are real,” she says. “Fucking  _ ghosts _ .”

It’s a complete switch in topic, but AJ takes it in stride.

“Babe, they’ve been real for a while. You hunt them.”

“I  _ know _ , and that’s even crazier! Ghosts are real, and I help capture them, supposedly. Is that going to be  _ me _ ? Is that what will happen when I die?”

Was someone like Phyl going to capture her and put her in a box, release her in some foreign place? Would she have any awareness of who she was, who she’d been? Would she finally understand the things she hears now? Would she  _ ever _ understand them when every lead is a dead end? Maybe there wasn’t anything to understand, and she’ll die not knowing. Maybe that’s what the dreams are about, somehow. It's not just that. In so many ways right now, she feels like a stranger to herself. There are things she’s desperate to know, but also things she’s afraid to look too far into.

To put it simply, she’s a mess.

AJ pats her hand. “I’m not surprised you’re having an existential crisis about all of this, but I would’ve thought it’d be sooner. Why now?”

“I guess it’s just really hitting me right now.” She looks around the room. Its atmosphere is so different from the first time she set foot here, but it's still the same place. “A  _ lot _ of things are hitting me right now.”

“Well, we can talk about any of it, if you—hold on.” AJ digs her phone out of the pocket of her cargo pants and unlocks it. “Gwen just texted. Looks like she needs help with something back at the flat.”

Dan is glad for the excuse to not talk about it further. She thought she wanted to, but maybe she doesn’t. She can’t tell anymore.

They clean up their table and head out into the brisk air. Dan zips the collar of her jacket up past her nose.

“You should tell Phyl to meet us there,” says AJ. Dan shoots her a text before they go underground.

Dan’s neck hurts. She’s been bent over a pile of papers for over an hour. Both the printed and the handwritten text are starting to blur. She leans back and rubs her eyes.

It turns out Gwen’s problem was that some kind of miscommunication or change of plans between her and the university professor she assists has resulted in her having to grade nearly a hundred exams in a wildly insufficient amount of time. Lacking the ability to freeze time, she’s called on her friends to help.

Gwen is reading and grading the longer essays, while Dan uses an answer key to check multiple choice and short answer questions. AJ and Phyl had been helping as well, but AJ’s taking a break to cook dinner for everyone, and earlier Phyl developed a headache that made it impossible for her to concentrate. She went to AJ and Gwen’s bedroom to lie down and wait for some ibuprofen to kick in, and when Dan checked on her a half hour later, she was asleep.

Gwen runs her pen down the margin of one of the papers to keep her place, periodically straying from it to make notes in the text. She chews at the skin of the knuckles on her other hand.

“Hands,” says AJ, from her position at the stove. She thrusts a wooden spoon in Gwen’s direction. Dan watches with mild dismay as three grains of rice fall to the floor unnoticed.

“Thanks,” says Gwen, looking up for a second and lowering her hand. She drums her fingers against the table instead.

“The food will be ready in five minutes. Do you want to go wake up Phyl?”

Five minutes by AJ’s estimation could mean anything from two minutes to fifteen. Dan pushes her chair back and stands, stretching and popping her joints.

She heads down the hall. The bedroom is dark, the door almost closed. She knocks lightly, and when there’s no response, she opens it.

Phyl is a lump in the bed, her back to Dan and the top of her head just poking out of her blanket cocoon. She doesn’t stir as Dan approaches.

“Phyl?” Dan sits on the edge of the bed. “Are you hungry? Dinner is almost ready.”

Phyl mumbles something unintelligible.

“What?”

She clears her throat. “No, thank you.”

Dan hesitates. But if Phyl isn’t feeling well, she should leave her alone. She rises from the bed.

At the door she says, “If you change your mind come join us.” Phyl doesn’t reply, so she closes the door carefully and returns to the kitchen.

“Where’s Sleeping Beauty?” asks AJ.

“Not hungry. I guess her head still hurts.”

Gwen has cleared all the papers from the table and put her laptop away. Dan gets out the dishes and utensils and they plate up the food.

While they eat, Dan tries not to worry about Phyl. She gets headaches all the time. And it seems like every month she catches a cold or a stomach bug for at least a few days. But she always bounces back, and Dan has learned that recommending she see a doctor for anything is pointless.

They get back to work after dinner.

“Is this legal?” Dan asks, half joking, as she finishes grading another multiple choice sheet.

“It is if you keep your mouth shut,” AJ says with a smile.

Sometime around nine, AJ abandons them because she has to get up for work earlier than usual. Her retail job has been giving her obnoxiously inconsistent hours lately.

“I need to sleep, or I won’t be charming, and I’ll get fired.”

“Should I wake Phyl?” asks Dan.

“No, I’ll just tell her to shove over.”

AJ leaves and Gwen and Dan keep working. The pile of graded exams is now significantly larger than the pile of ones to be graded. Dan’s concentration is flagging, and she checks every question twice to make sure she hasn’t fucked up. She checks the time and it’s somehow midnight already.

Gwen takes her glasses off and rubs her eyes. “Okay, I don’t think I can read anymore. I think I’m physically incapable.” She looks at what they’ve accomplished. “I should be able to finish these on my own tomorrow.”

Dan sighs in relief. She didn’t want to quit before Gwen, but she was reaching her limit.

Gwen neatly gathers up the papers. Her hands shake a bit from fatigue, and she’s chewed open a scab on the back of her knuckle because AJ wasn’t there to notice and remind her not to.

“Thanks,” she says to Dan, with a tired smile. “Before you arrived, I was imagining every way my termination might play out.”

“But you wouldn’t get  _ fired _ for being late with a few papers, right?”

Gwen shrugs. “This professor is…difficult.”

“Difficult. Right.” Dan glances over at Phyl’s shoes by the door. “Guess I’ll go wake up Phyl. I hope I don’t have to carry her all the way home.” They can just go back to Phyl’s together, since it’s closer.

“How about she just stays the night?”

Dan pictures the bed AJ and Phyl are already occupying. “But where will you sleep?”

Gwen yawns. “I’ll figure it out. Don’t worry. She’s our friend, too.”

Of course they’re all friends. And friends help each other. Dan gets an idea.

“You like doing research, right? And you’re good at it,” she says, a little timid.

“Yeah…” Gwen answers somewhat warily.

“Will you help me research something?”

They sit back down at the table, and Dan goes over what’s been going on with her, what she hears every time Phyl puts a ghost in the buggy, and how so far she and Phyl haven’t found any answers. Gwen’s tired eyes light up as Dan speaks. Dan knows that Gwen’s already been doing a lot of reading up on ghosts in her spare time, and Phyl invited her to Beyond the Veil. She hopes her request isn’t unreasonable.

“I’ll do it. I’ll help,” says Gwen, as soon as Dan stops talking. “I already feel like I’ve read some things…I’m not sure but something is familiar…”

“Thank you.”

“Thank  _ you _ ,” she says, gesturing towards the pile of exams. “Are you sure you want to leave? You can sleep over if you’re too tired to go home.”

Dan shakes her head and stands up. “No…thanks but I want to sleep in my bed.” Part of her wants to say yes, because Phyl is here, but a little time alone won’t hurt.

It’s too late to take the tube home, so she requests an uber and they wait together, trading yawns. When Dan gets the notification from the driver she puts on her coat and shoes, and Gwen comes down the stairs with her to see her out.

Everything is fine on the way back. The driver doesn’t try to speak with her, and she puts in earbuds and listens to music, watching lights go by outside the window. But when she makes it into her flat all the anxious feelings from earlier come back like a bucket of cold water tipped over her head.

She paces the flat, trying to keep it together. She wants to talk to someone, but everyone she wants to talk to is asleep. So she talks to herself, quick and under her breath. She tries to convince herself everything is fine, and failing that, to work out all the ways things aren’t fine. Maybe find a way to change that. But she’s tired and her thoughts keep skipping and stopping, running in circles and tripping over themselves.

She comes to the realization that the only thing she can really do at this point is get some sleep. She paces for another hour until she’s tired enough to do that. When the chaos in her brain is finally too weak to control her, she lies down and waits for sleep to grant her mercy. It doesn’t take long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading!
> 
> [ reblog on tumblr ](https://velvetnautilus.tumblr.com/private/619138943561203712/tumblr_Twpmsw5e1nRKMjxDC)
> 
> also, i love using picrew to make little dan and phyls, and i used one picrew to make a bunch of the OCs as well. so if you want to see cute cartoon approximations of some people...[ check it out](https://velvetnautilus.tumblr.com/post/618225262497284096/velvetnautilus-anyway-i-used-this-picrew-to-try)


	15. Chapter 15

Phyl pokes Dan’s dimple for the fifth time in as many minutes.

“Smile.”

Dan begrudgingly smiles, and Phyl bursts into laughter. She’s been like this all night. The ghost has made her giddy, and she keeps dissolving into giggles at the slightest provocation. It was cute at first. But now Dan just wants to catch the ghost and go home.

“Do you feel anything yet?”

“Yeah,” says Phyl, putting her hands over her heart.

“Like where the ghost is. Do you feel anything about  _ that?” _

“Oh. No.” She laughs.

Dan groans and looks around the room. They’re in a little cabin on the outskirts of the client’s property, nestled just far enough into the woods to put Dan on high alert. She hates the woods, and even though the main house is within running distance, she still feels like they’re in the middle of nowhere. She’s more afraid of what might be lurking outside the cabin than of the ghost inside with them. There are no bears or wolves in England, she reminds herself. But there could be axe-wielding murderers and cannibalistic serial killers. Or demons—which Dan doesn’t believe in, but she didn’t use to believe in ghosts either.

The cabin has one room, with a separate outhouse behind it, and a little farther into the woods stands a dried up well that used to provide fresh water. There’s a little wood stove in one corner (which isn’t helping with Dan’s nerves as she can easily envision the whole place lighting up), a small rectangular table with two straight-backed chairs, one of which is lying on the floor with a missing leg, and the bed, which is attached to the wall and barely big enough for one person. Dan is sitting on it beside Phyl.

The cabin hasn’t been used in a long time. Their client moved into the house, went out to see the old cabin once, and decided he didn’t want anything to do with it. Everything was fine for four months, and then one night he woke up inside it, standing in the middle of the room. He’d sleepwalked there, barefoot over rocks and roots, through the dark woods in the dead of night.

He was freaked out at first, but nothing happened the next night, or the next, for an entire week, and he decided it was just an isolated incident.

Then it happened again. And again. He sleepwalked to the cabin three times before he realized that every time he woke up there, the chairs had moved to different parts of the room. On the fourth time, one of the chairs had lost a leg. The next day he found Happy Phantoms online and emailed them.

Phyl pulls on one of Dan’s curls and watches it softly spring back, shaking with silent laughter. She lets a few hee-hees escape when Dan glares at her.

“You’re  _ so _ pretty.”

“Please just try to concentrate. Just a little. For me.”

Phyl nods and salutes. She looks around the room with a comically serious expression.

“There’s a ghost here,” she says, like it’s a revelation.

“No fucking shit.”

Phyl confirmed its presence when they first entered the cabin, back when she was still a functioning human being. In such a small space, you’d think it would be easy to pinpoint the ghost’s exact location, but Phyl said the ghost’s presence was muted. Almost shy. She walked around the room, running her hands along the walls, over the table, and along the back of the upright chair. They settled in to wait, sitting on the bed swapping theories. At some point, Phyl started getting loopy, and then rapidly descended into full-blown silliness.

Now Dan’s trying to get Phyl to focus on the task at hand, while simultaneously trying to suppress her own fear. The fire in the wood stove throws blades of light and shadow against the walls that turn menacing out of the corner of her eye. Outside the wind whistles and whines through the trees, and every now and then it sounds like a human cry, and the rustle of leaves is like the crunch of footsteps approaching. And she’s afraid if she takes her eyes off the chairs for too long they’ll move.

Phyl crawls halfway into her lap, wrapping her arms around her middle and squeezing tight. Dan jolts when she kisses her neck.

“Alright, nope.” She puts her palm to Phyl’s forehead and pushes her face away. “Not the time or place.”

Phyl juts out her bottom lip. She’s still holding onto Dan like she’s a life raft. 

“Can I tell you a secret?”

Dan rolls her eyes. “Sure.”

She buries her face in Dan’s shoulder.

“I love you,” she mumbles. “I love you so much it’s scary.”

For a moment Dan’s mind is blank. The words themselves aren’t surprising, but it’s the last thing she expected Phyl to say right now.

Phyl lifts her head and pulls back. Her eyes are wide and wounded. Dan’s been sitting there silently, not acknowledging what Phyl just said.

“I love you, too!” she says, grabbing one of the arms Phyl’s extracting from around her waist. “Like, an absurd amount.”

Phyl’s face breaks into a big goofy grin.

“I’m not sure you understand the definition of a secret though. Because that was a pretty shit secret.”

Phyl rolls onto her back, laughing heartily. She’s clearly still under the influence of the ghost.

“You are the funniest person I’ve ever met!” she cries.

“Alright, calm down.”

Phyl sits back up, wiping tears from her eyes. “I need more ghosts like this. I’m having the best time.”

“I’m not. I’d like to leave, actually.”

Phyl pats her knee. “I promise I’m not trying to make this last any longer that it has to. The ghost is just…” she throws her arms over her head and laughs. “You know?”

Dan just smiles and doesn’t ask for clarification. Maybe engaging Phyl in conversation is just distracting her. Not that she wants to ignore her either. She could never ignore Phyl when she’s reaching for her hand and smiling at her. And she can’t find it in her heart to really chastise or demand anything when Phyl’s just told her she loves her. In fact, it’s put her more in a mood to do anything Phyl asks.

Phyl closes her eyes and squeezes Dan’s hand. She tips her head back against the wall.

“I’m concentrating,” she says. A little giggle escapes. “I really, really am.”

“I know you are.” Dan closes her eyes, letting the cabin fall away. She focuses her attention on Phyl—the softness of her hand, the comforting pressure at the points where their legs and arms touch. She replays Phyl’s soft  _ I love you _ in her mind and it’s a sunburst filling her body with warmth. It’s a newborn memory, but she already knows it’s one she’ll revisit often for comfort.

Now she’s the one distracted from the case, but she doesn’t really care. She’ll let Phyl think about the ghost, and she’ll think about Phyl.

Dan’s not sure how long they sit there not speaking. When Phyl’s hand slips out of hers, she opens her eyes.

Phyl’s gone.

The space on the bed next to her is empty. She whips her head around, expecting to see Phyl standing somewhere else in the room. She’s not there.

“Phyl?” she whispers, too quiet for Phyl to hear unless she was still sitting beside her. “Phyl?” she repeats, a little louder.

The fire in the wood stove is still burning. The door is closed and the chairs are as they were. Phyl must have gone outside for some reason. Maybe she needed to pee? As if Phyl would walk out into the dark for that without asking Dan to come with her or at least telling her she was leaving. There’s no way Phyl would’ve left voluntarily, in her right mind, without telling Dan.

Dan unfolds her legs slowly and lowers her feet to the floor. She stands up and crosses the room, fists clenched at her sides.

“Phyl?” she tries again, looking over her shoulder before opening the door. Still no one there.

Dan steps out into daylight so bright she has to shield her eyes. But when she was in the cabin just a moment ago, she could see the darkness through the windows. Right?

“Phyl! Where are you?” She takes a few steps forward, into the trees. In the distance, she sees a flash of something. Maybe Phyl’s hair. She follows it farther into the woods, walking swiftly but not running. Just making sure to keep it in sight.

At some point the grass fades away to white, same as the sky. Then the trees flip. One moment she’s walking between their trunks and the next they’re hanging upside down, and she moves through the leaves. She hasn’t seen the flash that might be Phyl in a while, but she has to keep going, because Phyl has to be out there somewhere, even if Dan can’t see her. She’s not afraid anymore. She’s on a mission.

The leaves stroke her like inquisitive hands as she passes. She pushes them aside and dodges the branches they conceal. She looks up and sees that the trunks of the upside-down trees extend so high that they disappear into a white fog. It’s like they’re up in the clouds. She looks down to see if there are clouds there and sees just her feet, socks caked with mud. The forest floor—grass and rocks, tree roots and leaves—rematerializes around them. The bright, obscuring light fades, and a loud, industrial buzzing fills her ears. It’s like a physical pressure, bearing down to cave her skull in.

“Dan!”

She spins around. Phyl is standing by the buggy in front of the cabin, and Dan is only a few meters deeper into the woods. Phyl runs to her.

“Dan, what are you doing?”

“I was looking for you.”

Phyl searches her face with worried eyes. “Why would you leave me in the cabin to look out here?”

“You weren’t in the cabin!”

“Yes I was! We fell asleep on the bed, then I woke up because I sensed the ghost was ready to go. I told you and you sat up. Then you just walked out while I was absorbing it I guess, because I looked up from the buggy and you’re out here disappearing into the woods, never to be seen again!”

Her voice pitches up high at the end and she looks frantic. Dan tries to imagine how she would feel if she’d just come back to her senses after carrying a ghost, to see Phyl walking away. She puts her arms around her.

“I’m sorry. I think I must have been asleep.” Dan has never sleepwalked before, but she can see now that she was clearly dreaming.

Phyl hugs her back, pressing something hard against her spine.

“What are you holding?” she asks, not breaking the hug.

“Oh! The chair leg.” Phyl pulls away and lifts it up for Dan to see. “It was under the bed. With the ghost.”

The ghost was lurking below them the whole time. Dan really doesn’t want to think about that.

“I can’t believe I missed the entire thing.”

“Yeah, well, it was all very exciting. I crawled under the bed and then I crawled outside. Lucky for me you left the door open when you ran away.”

Phyl says it flippantly, but Dan’s heart breaks just a little, to think that while she was dreaming of finding Phyl, she was actually leaving her behind.

“I’m really sorry.”

Phyl shakes her head and smiles, swinging the chair leg at her side. “Everything’s fine. I’ve just got spoiled always having someone beside me now.” She looks down at their shoeless feet. “Let’s get our mucky selves inside, yeah?”

Inside the cabin, Dan sits on the floor and peels off her muddy socks, wadding them up into a ball. Phyl examines the broken chair.

“Are you gonna fix that?” Dan teases. If Phyl tried to repair it, she’d probably end up breaking it more in the process somehow.

“I’m going to channel the spirits to guide me.”

“Shut up.”

They pack their things. It was daybreak when Dan awoke, and the sun keeps rising higher. They need to go inform their client of the night’s success. The success that Dan—even more than usual—had very little to do with. She frowns and shoves the dirty socks deep into her backpack.

“I can’t wait to go home and take a shower,” she says. “Before I have to work.” Dan has several projects with upcoming deadlines that should be much closer to completion by now. Her mind and time have been tied up elsewhere recently. “It’s a shame bagging ghosts doesn’t pay the rent.”

“What if you only had to pay half the rent?”

“What?” Dan looks up at Phyl, sitting on the floor across from her, playing with the zipper on her bag.

“What if you only had to pay half the rent…because your super cool girlfriend was paying the other half? Your super cool girlfriend you move in with for real instead of just hanging around her flat sixty percent of the time?”

Dan stares at her, trying to decipher if she’s saying what Dan  _ knows _ she’s saying but just didn’t expect her to say at a time like this. Just like before.

“Of course, you wouldn’t actually be able to quit your other job, and you probably wouldn’t want to anyway. I’m just saying, while we’re on the subject…”

“The subject of my super cool girlfriend?”

Phyl smiles bashfully. “Obviously.”

“Are you sure you can handle seeing more of me than you already do?” She’s kidding, but there’s a little thread of fear woven into the joke. A completely unfounded fear that Phyl will get sick of her. “You really want me to move in with you?”

“Yeah, I do. Call me selfish, but I’m sick of not being able to see you whenever I want.”

“I love you,” Dan blurts out. Apparently now that they’ve crossed that line she’s just going to nonsensically throw the words into conversation.

“Um, I love you too…so does that mean you want to?”

“I do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading!
> 
> [ reblog on tumblr ](https://velvetnautilus.tumblr.com/private/619631088401317888/tumblr_DD7AighBZkrHNlU3q)


	16. Chapter 16

“Me and Phyl are moving in together,” says Dan, gazing up at the familiar ceiling in Allison’s office.

“That’s exciting news, Dan. Congratulations.”

“Thanks. Yeah, it is…bit stressful too because now we’ve got to start hunting for a new flat. Both our leases are up around the same time, and Phyl wants us to get a new place instead of me just moving into hers. She said that way it’s ‘fresh’ and belongs to both of us.”

“That’s an interesting point. What do you think about it?”

Dan sighs. “I guess it makes sense. But I think…this is stupid, but I think I’m going to miss her place. More than my own.”

“That doesn’t sound stupid to me. You’ve made a lot of good memories there.”

Allison’s right. She also has good memories from her own flat, but an equal number of unpleasant ones. Dan’s flat has seen some of her worst moments. And unlike Dan’s, Phyl’s flat was never haunted.

They talk some more about the moving plans. Everything else Dan’s struggling with is either off limits because of the supernatural element, or too confusing to give words to. It’s no fault of Allison’s, but Dan leaves the session feeling frustrated and unsatisfied.

On a positive note, she has another text from Prunella.

_ Sounds good! I’m available all afternoon when you’re ready to talk xx _

Earlier today Dan texted her to ask if they could discuss Dan’s dreams. Prunella had suggested they talk on the phone instead of texting. So now Dan paces in her kitchen, working up the nerve to call.

Prunella hadn’t seemed bothered at all by Dan’s request, or by finding out that Dan knew about her dreams of Alice. She seemed enthusiastic to help. But it was impossible to tell how she really felt over text.

She could have just ignored Dan’s message. Or replied that she didn’t want to discuss it. Dan needs to trust that she’s being sincere. She takes a deep breath and calls.

After the longest three rings of Dan’s life, Prunella picks up.

“Dan! How are you, darling?”

“Um, I’m good. Thanks for doing this…How are you?”

“Good, good. It’s no problem. You’re the first person I’ve met going through the same thing I did. I’ve talked to dozens of people online but no one in the flesh realm, you know? And we met through Phyl. What a small world, right?”

“Yeah, I know.”

It  _ was _ strangely lucky that Phyl had a friend with similar dreams. Not that Dan’s dreams were necessarily prophetic like hers.

“Can you tell me more about your dreams?”

Dan goes into greater detail than she has with Phyl. There’s no sense holding it back, not now when she finally has a chance to get some insight.

“…and it’s like, I don’t—I didn’t believe in shit like this, but I don’t want anyone to get hurt, and the way the dreams  _ feel _ makes me afraid someone will.”

“And you never had anything like this before Phyl? And they’re only about her?”

“Yeah, it’s just Phyl.”

“You love her, right?”

Dan is speechless. Even though she’s alone in her flat, she blushes and her heart pounds.

“Yes,” is all she can manage to say at first, and then after a beat, “Why?”

Prunella sighs. “I think it’s about love. I think we dream about the people we love. I love Alice more than anyone or anything in this world. And it’s like that knocked something loose in me and awoke this…ability, if you want to call it that.”

Dan walks to the sofa and lies on her back like she does in therapy.

“But I started having the dreams before we were even dating. I can’t say I loved her then.”

“Hmm, yeah. Well, I started dreaming about Alice before she was even born, when I was pregnant. She was just this faceless kid. And I was excited to meet her, but I didn’t love her. I didn’t know her.”

Dan grabs a pillow from under her head and holds it tight.

“I don’t know what to do,” she says, hoping she doesn’t sound as helpless as she feels. “I don’t want her to get hurt.”

Prunella is quiet for some time, but the silence isn’t uncomfortable.

“I think all you can do is look after her. Look after yourself. There’s no way to guarantee another person’s safety, regardless of whether you’re having possibly prophetic dreams about them or not.” Her voice is slow and gentle; Dan wonders if she uses this voice with her daughter. Maybe she uses it with everyone when they need it.

“And I’ve had plenty of dreams about Alice that never came to pass or led to situations that weren’t so bad,” she continues. “I had scary dreams for a week that led up to her just skinning her knee. I wish I could tell you this was simple.”

“That’s okay.”

“Shit, I hope I’m not making it worse.”

“No, no. You’re not.” Dan rolls onto her side, curling around the pillow tight enough to squeeze the life out of it, her phone and hand wedged between her head and the armrest. She’s facing the TV now and can see the time.

Gwen is supposed to come over in less than twenty minutes. Gwen is never late (at least when AJ’s not involved), and Dan was going to order food so they could eat when she arrived. She sits up and nearly drops her phone.

They’ve talked about so much and yet so little.  _ I think it’s above love _ , Prunella said. But what good is having these dreams about someone you love if you still have no control over what happens to them? She wishes there was a reliable way to interpret the dreams. Just to find out whether they’re dealing with life and death or skinned knees. But she has to put it aside for now.

“Prunella, you’ve been so helpful, really, but I actually need to go.”

“I’m happy to help! Actually, there’s a little imp here who keeps peeking around the corner trying to get my attention, so I’d better see what it wants.”

Dan can hear Alice’s voice in the background. Her words are indistinct, but her tone is indignant.

“If you ever need anything, Dan, or anything happens—I’m here. And don’t let Phyl forget that either.”

“I won’t. Thank you.”

“Let’s talk again soon, alright? Bye!”

“Bye.”

Prunella hangs up first. Dan lowers her phone to her lap and sits in the silence, ears buzzing. She needs to move, but suddenly she’s exhausted. She’d like to lie back down and stare at nothing with an empty head. But there’s no time for that.

She’s just finished placing an order for their dinner when there’s a quiet sort of half-knock on the door, followed by a few other odd thumps. She opens it to find Gwen carrying a stack of at least ten books, high enough to cover her face. Dan can’t help but laugh.

“Well, hello,” she says, grabbing some books off the top of the stack and stepping aside. Gwen makes a beeline for the kitchen, dropping her pile on the table with a thud.

“Hi,” she says, stretching her arms above her head and flexing her fingers.

“Please tell me you didn’t carry all of those on the tube.”

“Of course not. A friend was coming this way and dropped me off.”

Dan puts the rest of the books down. From the top cover, an illustration of a woman in a white Victorian dress with a candle in each hand stares at her with dead eyes.

“So…what is all this?”

“Research. You know, like you asked. I, uh…got a little carried away.” She takes a deep breath and presses her palm flat to the top of the other stack. “Okay, so, I’ve marked the most pertinent passages in these with post-its. I’ve also emailed you some ebooks—maybe you’ve already seen that—and articles I think might be of interest. I highlighted parts of those, too. Oh! Also I sent over some titles of other books you may want to check out. I haven’t read all of them yet, but they look promising.” She smacks the book and sits down. “That’s it.”

Dan stares in wonder. “ _ That’s it? _ This is fucking amazing…it’s barely been a week…”

“Well, some of these I had already read, it was just a matter of skimming back through with new eyes. Honestly, once I started I couldn’t stop. This is all so fascinating, but it kills me that I can’t write a paper on any of it without being laughed out of academia for positing that ghosts are real.”

Dan sits down. Her knees are weak, and she might cry. Prunella and Gwen have been too nice to her. She knows that’s what friends do—they help each other—but it’s still hard to accept sometimes. She leans forward and hides her face in her hands.

“Thank you.”

“No problem. This was fun…but sure, it was also a lot of work when I should’ve been doing other things...so, can I ask a favor?”

Dan uncovers her face. Gwen twists and untwists a piece of hair around a finger and chews on the nails of her other hand.

“Of course. Anything.”

“Can you ask Phyl if I can join you guys on a case sometime?”

Dan can’t think of any reason that wouldn’t work, or why Phyl would be opposed. Besides, Phyl is always telling Dan that she’s not her boss, so it really isn’t just up to her. And Gwen is one of the most reliable people Dan knows. Despite all the anxiety she’s solid. 

“Sure, I’ll ask, but the answer is yes. I’ll let Phyl know you’ll be joining us.”

“Yes!” She claps her hands once. “Alright, do you want to talk about my findings now, or do you want to watch shitty movies and complain about them like we planned?”

Tearing apart movies is an activity best undertaken without AJ and Phyl, who don’t understand the entertainment value of spending ninety minutes critiquing something you chose to watch.

“Definitely shitty movies.”

“Great.” Gwen looks around the room and sniffs. “Where’s the food?”

“Well, the thing about that—” just then Dan’s phone lights up with a notification from the delivery driver. “—oh, look. It’s right on time!”

When Gwen leaves, Dan tidies up and then climbs into bed with her laptop. It’s too early to sleep, but she doesn’t have the energy to do much more than scroll through pictures of beautiful people and memes on Instagram.

She stops on a comic by a queer creator she’s been following since she heard them read a poem at House of Wheels. The poem had given her chills. She reads the title of the comic,  _ My Gender Journey, _ and her heart jumps. She scrolls past it quickly, like she’s been burned.

“You’re so stupid,” she mutters to the quiet room.

Face burning, Dan scrolls back up, and reads. She goes to the creator’s page and reads more. She follows a few links.

Once she’s started, she can’t stop. It’s like she’s been starving for months and is finally allowing herself to eat. But it’s research, curiosity. Just like Gwen devouring information in order to illuminate an answer to Dan’s ghost problem. She’s just educating herself.

None of it is about her. She’s  _ not _ having this crisis now. She’s nearly twenty-six. She has too many other things to worry about. She doesn’t have time to feel like this.

It’s 2:30am. Dan x’s out of the fifth  _ What’s My Gender?  _ quiz of the night and closes her laptop, plunging the room into darkness.

Dan stares up into the void.  _ You’re not curious.  _ _ You know. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading!
> 
> [ reblog on tumblr ](https://velvetnautilus.tumblr.com/private/620004054629777409/tumblr_5zVU1jg6w6t5hp8QK)


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...
> 
> Some of you may have seen this coming (I really hope some of you have or I haven’t done a very good job of planting the seeds) and some of you may not have. not long after I wrote the first fic in this series, I made notes about a genderswap ghost hunting fic I wanted to write someday, where dan would discovery they’re nonbinary and come out during the course of the story. After I began this fic, I struggled with whether I should keep that as part of it, but in the end, this fic and this universe is all about writing what I want and what appeals to me, and having a nonbinary character fits into that. My own journey with gender and feelings about my own gender are not analogous to dan’s (basically, dan is not a stand-in for me lmao), but as a person who had to go through the mental switch of thinking of myself as a “she” to a “they”, it made sense to me to use she/her pronouns for dan up until the point when they go through this self-revelation and decide they don’t want to use those pronouns anymore (although plenty of nonbinary ppl DO use she/her or he/him pronouns but I digress) With that in mind I hope everyone who’s been reading this fic as a wip and referring to dan as a woman and using she/her pronouns this whole time knows that that made perfect sense to do and was ok. In universe dan thought of themselves as a cis woman for most of their life and that’s how it goes sometimes. Like, there’s no way you could have known for sure and even I wasn’t sure I was going to go through with it. and i don't look back at when i believed i was a woman and get mad at myself or anyone who also thought that, you know? If you’re reading this in the future of course, the tags may cued you in already lol.
> 
> Anyway I’m a nonbinary writer and I wanted to write a nonbinary main character so that’s what I’m doing ok byyye

Dan stands in front of the mirror in Phyl’s bathroom.

“Dan is looking in the mirror. They need a haircut.”

Dan read online somewhere that a good way to try out new pronouns was using them in sentences about yourself (or getting someone else to do it for you). They’re not sure it’s helping so far.

“Dan is talking about themself in the third person. They feel ridiculous.”

Dan splashes water on their face and pats it dry with a towel they always use. They can’t remember if they brought it from home or if it originated in Phyl’s flat. Soon enough there will be no “Dan’s flat” and “Phyl’s flat.” They’re going around with an agent today to visit potential places to rent. The thought has Dan buzzing with an excitement that makes them want to run out the door and begin the quest, but it also makes their stomach swoop like they’re running off the edge of a cliff. Change is scary, but thankfully this change isn’t scary enough to chip away at how deeply they want it.

There’s something else Dan needs to do. Something that makes them feel like their body is dissolving to numbness, leaving only the heavy pound of their heart behind. For nearly a week now, Dan has been trying to determine the perfect time and perfect way to tell Phyl what they’ve learned about themself. Hiding it feels like a splinter in their foot, stabbing with every step. But every time they almost work up the nerve to say something, the allure of just existing peacefully with Phyl washes away the urgency.

Not today. Dan’s really going to do it this time.

They march down the hall to the kitchen, steps faltering a bit when they reach the threshold and see Phyl. She’s sitting at the table, mug of coffee between her hands, eyes bleary behind her glasses. She gives Dan a tired smile, and they almost decide right then that this is a conversation best had later, when Phyl is fully alert and awake. But then, they’ll probably decide that Phyl is too tired from a busy day of visiting flats and put it off again.

“I don’t think I’m strictly a woman,” says Dan, ripping off the plaster. Clumsily. That was not at all the words they planned to open with.

Phyl’s eyes widen and she slowly lowers her mug to the table.

“Or a man. I’m not sure exactly what I am. Well I guess I’m nonbinary, but I don’t know exactly what that  _ means _ for me, specifically, like what I want or need.” Their words are coming much faster than intended, all the carefully constructed speeches crumbling. “I just—you—I really wanted you to know, because, I need you to—I just…”

Phyl’s face is unreadable. Dan’s fucking it all up. Their breaths are coming fast and they might pass out.

“I’m sorry, I know this is out of the blue and you’re probably like, what the fuck? I know, but—”

“Come here,” says Phyl. She makes grabby hands.

While Dan walks to the table, Phyl pulls a chair close to hers, so when Dan sits they’re right beside each other. She pulls Dan into a tight hug, hands gripping the back of their shirt. Dan is too flustered to hug back.

“And I’m sorry this must be so weird for you, because you like girls and now I’m like, surprise! Not a girl! And I get it if you don’t—if you can’t—”

“I like  _ you _ ,” says Phyl. She pulls back and frames Dan’s face with her hands. Dan’s heart drops when they see Phyl has tears in her eyes.

“I like you, and I want you to be happy, and I want you to be yourself.” She lets go of Dan to take her glasses off and wipe angrily at her eyes. “And I am  _ not  _ crying because who you are bothers me at all, I’m crying because it makes me sad that you were scared.”

“Oh,” says Dan. Phyl hugs them again and they hug back. Suddenly they start laughing. “Fuck, why are we so  _ dramatic _ ? I’m coming out to my super cool girlfriend, not my homophobic dad.”

Phyl giggles and sniffles. “Can we move to the sofa? I’m kind of really uncomfortable.”

They disentangle and move into the lounge. Dan flops onto the sofa. They feel deflated—in a good way. All the weight dropped and the tension cut, leaving them tired but relieved.

“You’re the first person I’ve told. I think that’s why it felt so hard. Not because I didn’t trust you or anything.”

“I know you trust me,” Phyl says confidently. Like she has no doubts. Dan wishes they could maintain that constant level of security in their relationships that Phyl seems to possess. Some day.

“So, what now?” Phyl asks.

“What?”

“What do you need me to do? How do you want me to talk and act, uh…in light of this new information?”

“Ah, well. I’m sort of trying out new pronouns," Dan says shyly. "They/them. It still feels weird.”

“Okay,” says Phyl. She furrows her brow. “This is Dan, they’re really great,” she says earnestly.

Dan bursts out laughing.

“What? What? Did I do it wrong?”

“No,” they shake their head and sigh contently. “It just sounds better when you say it.”

Phyl looks confused, but she smiles.

While Phyl goes to take a shower, Dan pours themself a bowl of cereal and prepares to come out to AJ and Gwen. They’re just going to text them. Telling them scares Dan less than telling Phyl. But it had to be Phyl before anyone else. They had to get the reassurance and acceptance of the person they want to spend the rest of their life with first. (Dan blushes just thinking about that. It hasn’t even been a year but they’re so audaciously sure.) 

Dan doesn’t think AJ and Gwen will be upset by this. They feel guilty for thinking there was even a chance Phyl would be. But they’re not about to move in with Gwen and AJ, and they’ve known them longer than Phyl. And even though their friends matter just as much, Dan realizes their _opinion_ doesn’t. The stakes just aren’t as high.

_ hey so i’m nonbinary just wanted you to know _

They stuff their mouth with a big spoonful of cereal and push their phone away across the table. Okay, so they’re a little anxious still. But when the screen lights up a few minutes later, twice in quick succession, Dan doesn’t hesitate to grab it.

Gwen replied first,  _ Congratulations _ followed by yellow, purple, and black heart emojis.

AJ’s reply was sent only seconds later. They were probably together when they received the text.

_ please let me throw you a gender reveal party _

Dan smiles. They have good friends.

They’re rinsing their bowl in the sink when Phyl walks in, limping slightly and cupping her elbow. Dan can see the edges of a fresh, red bruise under her hand.

“What the fuck happened to you?”

Phyl plops down in a chair, wincing. “I tripped getting out of the shower. You didn’t hear?”

“No.”

Phyl lifts up the edge of the towel she has wrapped around her, revealing a swollen knee.

Dan bends down to examine it. “Why are you such a disaster?” They look back up at Phyl’s face. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, just sore.”

“We have to do a lot of walking and standing today…should I call the agent to reschedule some things or…?”

“No!” Phyl stands up, wobbles, and sits back down immediately. “I’ll be okay. I’ll ice my knee while you get ready, and then I’ll get dressed right before we have to leave.” She smiles. “I’m really excited about today. No way a couple bumps and bruises are going to stop me.”

Dan looks at Phyl’s knee doubtfully. It’s not exactly a little bruise. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,  _ mum _ , I’m—Shit!”

“What?” Dan asks with alarm. “Does it hurt more?”

“No, I called you mum. I shouldn’t do that, right? Because mums are usually girls…”

Dan barks out a laugh. “I guess? You know, there are other reasons you shouldn’t call the person you’re dating your mum but, uh, sure.”

Phyl drags her hands down her face. “Okay, can you get me some ice?”

“Yes, mum.”

“Stop!” Phyl whines.

When it’s almost time for them to leave, Phyl abandons the ice pack to go get dressed. Dan watches her walk down the hall and notes that she’s not limping noticeably anymore, just walking slower than she normally would.

And soon they’re off, in the back of a cab headed to meet up with their real estate agent at the first flat of the day. Dan’s heart swells as they look out the window, watching buildings creep by as the car makes its way through traffic. Phyl is beside them, and they’re going to find a home together. Dan has learned more about themself, and through sharing that learned more about Phyl. About them as a unit. They feel safe and a little sappy and a lot excited.

Dan is riding in the back of a car with the love of their life. They’re happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading! and any readers who are nonbinary, genderqueer, trans and/or gnc etc....special thanks to you
> 
> chapters have been shorter lately but next one should be longer, also it will have a ghost. remember ghosts?
> 
> [ reblog on tumblr ](https://velvetnautilus.tumblr.com/private/620365413329600512/tumblr_bsAS4hmh8leHqm4Zv)


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for your kind words and reassuring responses on the last chapter :)

A book flies past Dan’s head, close enough that they can feel a breeze. They drop to the ground and cover their head with their hands as more books fly off the shelves, crashing into each other and dropping to the floor. They crawl to the end of the aisle to a seating area where they can escape the barrage and join Gwen, crouched between an armchair and a round table.

“That was only six minutes apart,” says Gwen, checking her watch. “They’re closer together now.”

The violent flurry is over in under two minutes, and the bookshop resumes its eerie stillness.

“Phyl!” Dan calls. “You alright?”

“Yeah, I’m by some paperbacks. What about you? Gwen?”

“I’m with Dan by the chairs,” says Gwen, “and we’re fine.”

When the three of them arrived at the bookshop earlier that night, the ghost’s tantrums (Phyl objected slightly to that term) were only occurring once every twenty minutes or so, but the time in between had started to shrink after the first two hours.

“What are we even looking for?” Dan grumbles, standing up. They’re far enough away from the shelves that they don’t think the books will have the velocity to reach them. Of course, that could change just as the time between attacks has narrowed. (Phyl objected to that term too).

Gwen leans over the table to scribble in her notepad. She’s been writing in it every chance she’s had since they arrived. Even now she’s still full of zeal for the research. Earlier a paperback book hit her upside the head, and the first thing she wanted to do was document every detail of the occurrence in writing. Instead of answering Dan and Phyl’s questions about her well-being, she asked them to describe what the incident looked like from their point of view.

“I know it’s in a book,” says Phyl. Her voice is getting closer. “We just have to find the right one.”

“All this carnage is making it really hard to tell which books we’ve looked at and which we haven’t,” says Dan, as Phyl comes into view, stepping over and around the books strewn everywhere.

The bookshop isn’t huge. It’s a little independent shop tucked away between larger businesses in London. But Phyl is convinced they need to take every single book off the shelves, open it, flip through, and then put it back until they find the ghost nestled between pages. When Gwen presented the possibility that the ghost could jump from book to book, Phyl just smiled and said then they’d have to go through the same books again. At first they were trying to reshelve books that flew at them, but now there’s not much point when the same book will drop in ten minutes.

Phyl sits in one of the armchairs and sighs, rubbing her temples. Dan knows she’s had a headache since they walked through the door.

“I swear we’re not always this aimless,” she says to Gwen.

“Yeah, sometimes we’re even  _ more _ aimless.”

Phyl tries to kick Dan but hits the table instead. She mutters  _ ow _ very quietly.

“So have you had a chance to look at any of the materials I gave you?” Gwen asks Dan.

“Uh, I’ve had a few chances…but I haven’t taken any of them.”

Despite how desperately Dan wanted information, they’re now afraid to look at it. They might not like what they find. They might be let down. That’s been a reoccurring theme during their search for answers.

“I can’t really make sense of all of it, but your practical experience might shed some light, you know? On the nature of your paranormal perception and how it intersects with Phyl’s.”

“My what?” Dan stares blankly.

“The distress call, or however else you want to describe it. Seriously, read the stuff I gave you.”

Books explode from the shelves before Dan can reply. They jump, caught off guard by the sound because Gwen’s words had dragged them into a mind-occupying confusion. Phyl leaps out of her chair and Gwen checks her watch.

“Only three minutes that time. Barely.”

“Alright,” says Phyl. “When this stops, we’re going to run out there and go for the books still on the shelves. I think if the book it was hiding in had been tossed open I would have sensed the ghost revealing itself by now.”

“Some of the books on the shelves are ones we’ve already looked at and put back,” says Dan. “Although there are more books on the grounds than the shelves now.”

“I know, but we’ve got to start somewhere. We’ll all go to different sections like before. Open them up and drop them on the ground.”

Dan feels bad for the shop employees who are going to return to nearly their entire stock spread across the floor, with many books damaged (though many of them were already damaged by the ghost before Happy Phantoms arrived on the scene). They’ll have to stay on afterwards and help reshelve everything.

The books in motion stop flying and fall.

“Go!”

They all leap into action. Dan runs over to the romance section. Grab, open, drop. Repeat. They try to drop the books as carefully as possible—closed and cover down instead of on open pages or their spines –but they have to move quickly, too. If the ghost is continuing the pattern of shorter and shorter breaks between attacks, they only have a few minutes before they’ll have to stop again.

_ Your paranormal perception _ , Gwen said. Well, okay, that wasn’t so weird, right? It’s not surprising if the sound Dan’s been hearing is a ghost (if that’s what she meant). They’ve always thought it had to do with ghosts. But something about the way Gwen said it had a particular weight. It sounded almost like she had concrete evidence. Something real. Dan doesn’t want to get their hopes up, but they have a hunch Gwen’s research could be the most promising lead so far.

Gwen screams and Dan jolts, tossing the book in their hands up into the air. They race out of the aisle.

“Gwen? Where are you?”

“Over here!” calls Phyl. “We’re in children’s!”

Dan hurries to the children’s section on the other side of the store. They find Gwen and Phyl in the middle of the area. Phyl is fine, but Gwen is surrounded by a tornado of books, circling her entire body at lightning speeds. Some are thinner, softcover books, while others are dense hardcovers.

Dan starts to run toward her, but Phyl grabs their arm to hold them back.

“If you disturb the books she could get hurt,” Phyl warns. “They aren’t touching her.”

Dan focuses on the swirling storm and sees that Phyl is right. The books don’t touch Gwen, but they are close enough to keep her from moving. She looks terrified. Her braids twist and sway in the whirlwind and the collar of her shirt unfolds upward and flutters against her jaw.

Phyl begins to walk slowly toward her. “Do you know which book it was?” she asks. “The last one you opened.”

“Yes,” says Gwen, barely opening her mouth to speak. “ _ A Children’s Anthology of Christmas Tales.  _ It’s the big red hardcover whizzing around my fucking head.”

Gwen, like Phyl, doesn’t swear often, so Dan knows she’s quite frightened.

“Okay,” says Phyl. “Okay…”

“Are you hatching a plan?” Dan asks, not taking their eyes off Gwen.

“We have to get the book.”

“How?”

“I don’t know.”

“Great. Merry fucking Christmas,” says Gwen, with a slight tremble in her voice.

“It’ll be okay,” says Phyl. “We’ll find a way to stop this.”

“Soon?”

“Yes…Dan, you have quick reflexes.”

Dan eyes her warily. “Oh, do I?”

“You always brag about it when we play games.”

“You do,” Gwen agrees.

“Not quick enough to karate chop a book out of the air or whatever the hell else you’re scheming!”

“You wouldn’t use your actual  _ hands _ , or your body at all. Maybe some kind of stick or racquet—”

“This isn’t a sporting goods shop!”

“I’m sure they have a  _ broom _ , Dan.”

“Guys!” Gwen snaps. “While you’re bickering, my leg is cramping, and I’d really like to move.”

Dan shuts their mouth, guiltily swallowing the retort they’d prepared for Phyl.

“I’m sorry,” says Phyl. “Dan, can you bring the buggy closer? So we’re ready for whatever happens.”

Dan nods and turns to leave. They look over their shoulder a few times on their way to the front of the shop, where the buggy is waiting by the register. The books continue to spin around Gwen, and Phyl has stepped closer to her. As close as she reasonably can without getting one or both of them hurt.

Dan approaches the buggy, and for a split second they imagine flipping it on its side, grabbing something heavy, and caving the box in. The idea comes out of nowhere, and exits their mind as swiftly as it entered, but their hands still shake as they reach for the handle.

When Dan arrives back in the children’s section, she finds Phyl sitting on the floor in front of Gwen, looking up at her and the books still flying. Dan leaves the buggy near the entrance to the area with a clear path from it to Phyl, although they have no idea if she’s going to be catching the ghost anytime soon.

“We figured something out,” Phyl says, when Dan joins them.

“Watch.” Gwen lifts her arm, and instead of hitting it, the books alter their path. She extends it all the way, palm out, and the books withdraw. They still maintain the same rapid pace, and no large gaps appear in the formation.

“That’s good, right?” says Dan.

“I haven’t tried walking yet,” Gwen replies. “I’m afraid if I move too quickly the books won’t get out of the way in time.”

“And why are you on the ground?” Dan asks Phyl.

“Well, I’m birthing an idea…” She says it like she already knows Dan won’t like it.

“An idea.” Dan looks at Gwen and raises an eyebrow.

“I don’t know what it is,” she says. “You were gone less than a minute. We haven’t had any discussion.”

“Okay, hear me out,” Phyl says to both of them, “I need to get to the ghost, which we’ve established is connected to the Christmas book hula-hooping around your head, Gwen. It’s not close enough to the outside perimeter of the…book vortex to get at it,  _ but _ if I was  _ inside  _ the vortex—”

“How the hell are you going to do that?” says Dan. “Just magically slide super fast between books?”

“No, I would just—okay, if Gwen extends some limbs so two people can fit, I could kind of crawl from the floor up into it.”

Gwen frowns. “That’s, uh…”

“A terrible idea,” Dan finishes.

Phyl crosses her arms and lifts her chin. “So, you have a better one?”

Neither of them do, so after a minute of deliberation—in which the books do not relent—they decide to go with Phyl’s plan.

First Gwen extends both arms out in front of her, pushing the books back. then she slowly sinks to the ground and extends her legs out in a V.

“Okay,” says Phyl, getting down on her belly. “Now I just have to crawl under the books into the space between your legs.”

“Wow, Phyl, I’m right here,” says Dan, attempting to lighten the mood. Phyl scowls.

“When I get out of here, I’m going to kill both of you,” Gwen says flatly.

The knowledge that she can hold back the books has clearly eased Gwen’s fear. She’s still anxious—shoulders rigid, curling her hands into tight fists and biting her lip hard. But Dan would be concerned if she wasn’t anxious in a situation like this. That would be alarmingly out of character.

Dan watches with bated breath as Phyl awkwardly wiggles under the books. They look so close to clipping the top of her head, and it’s not like that would kill her, but Dan doesn’t want to see her get hurt. They exhale when Phyl is far enough under that she can sit up. Gwen drops her arms, and the books fly behind Phyl, ruffling her hair. They tilt their heads back to look at the big red book twisting in tight circles above them, and Dan moves closer to stand right outside the tornado.

“Okay,” Phyl murmurs, as if the books will overhear. “Now we stand up. Ready?”

Gwen nods, and they push off from the ground, grabbing each other’s hands to steady themselves as they stand fully. Gwen is considerably shorter, so only Phyl’s head is in the path of the Christmas book. They move closer together, toes touching.

“Save room for Jesus,” Dan says, and this time Gwen cracks a smile.

“Now what?” she asks.

They’d sort of banked on the idea that once Phyl was inside, she’d figure out what to do. Now Dan’s thinking maybe that was foolish. Perhaps if Gwen and Phyl sit down again, Dan can find something to knock the red book above the girls out of place. That would make Phyl going inside completely pointless, but some plans have more detours than others.

What happens instead, is that Phyl lets go of Gwen’s hands and shoves her back without warning. The books part to let her body through, and Dan reacts just fast enough to grab Gwen before she falls on her ass.

“Why the fuck did you—”

The books drop like rocks to the floor. All except the red book which still orbits Phyl’s head. The book moves at such a violent pace that Dan can barely see Phyl’s face in the time between passes. Not being able to see her clearly and read her expression induces a sudden, intense anxiety.

Gwen is gripping their arm painfully tight and staring at Phyl, equally transfixed. Phyl raises her hands and the book starts to slow. As the book completes its circuit with less and less momentum, it appears even more unnatural. It’s not an object carried by the wind, but one propelled by its own power.

It passes lazily in front of Phyl’s face and she slams her hands together, catching the book between them. She drops to the floor and lets the book fall open in her hands.

Gwen’s hold on Dan loosens and she moves just a half step forward. Dan doesn’t think she even knows she’s done it.

“Is this it?” she asks breathlessly.

“Yeah.”

Phyl closes her mouth and lets the red book fall from her hands. Her white eyes meet Dan’s, but they know she’s not really seeing them. She stands and strides toward the buggy with purpose. Gwen elbows Dan and taps her ears, reminding them to put on their headphones. They both trail after Phyl.

When she kneels before the buggy, Dan closes their eyes. They don’t want to watch today. They listen to the dulled but inescapable sound and don’t open their eyes until it ceases.

Phyl looks over her shoulder at them and gives a thumbs up. Dan returns it and does their best to smile. Next to them, Gwen seems deep in thought, gazing ahead as she chews on her knuckles.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” says Phyl, standing and stretching her back. She just barely winces, but Dan notices.

Gwen’s knees buckle and she sinks to the floor. Dan follows, putting a hand on her back.

“Are you okay?” they ask. Phyl joins them on the floor.

“I’m fine,” Gwen says. “I’m just—I’m fine.”

Phyl reaches out and pats her knee. “It’s okay if you were scared. I’d be scared if I got trapped in a violent book vortex, especially if I’d never done any of this before.”

Gwen stares at Phyl intently, like she’s trying to see past her reassuring smile and into her brain. Or maybe that’s just what Dan wants to do.

“Does it hurt?” she asks.

“The books? None of them hit me.”

“No. Does it hurt when—when you do  _ that _ .” She points at the buggy behind them.

“Nope!” Phyl says cheerily, after a pause. “Not at all. Well, my knee does hurt some, from banging an old bruise around.”

Gwen nods and wraps a braid around her wrist, circling it tight.

They all stand together and survey the damage. The shop looks ransacked. There are more books on the floor than on the shelves, piled up and spread out like fallen leaves. Dan is exhausted just looking at the mess and imagining cleaning it all up.

“Let’s go to sleep,” says Phyl. We can help fix everything in the morning.”

The Mystery Machine is parked behind the shop. The three take turns preparing for bed in the little one-occupant staff bathroom. Dan brushes their teeth robotically, keeping eye contact with their reflection in the smudged mirror. After they spit and rinse, they turn their attention to the black hole of the drain. Dan turns the water back on and watches as it falls straight into it; the spout and drain perfectly align. The black hole sucks the water inside. They turn it off and leave.

When Dan gets back to the van, Phyl hops up and exits. It’s her turn in the bathroom. Gwen is curled up with her back against one of the raised beds, reading a book.

“Borrowing this from the shop till morning,” she says, putting the book down.

Dan sits across from her, against the other bed. Gwen looks at the buggy and then down at her feet. She picks at the toe of her sock.

“I didn’t like that,” she says.

Dan assumes she’s referring to getting trapped by the books.

“I’m sorry about that. I get it. Like Phyl said, I’d have been scared too.”

“No. Not just that. The whole experience. Don’t misunderstand—I’m really grateful I got to join you, and it was fascinating. I can’t wait to go over all the notes I took.” She closes her eyes, takes her glasses off and fiddles with them. “But I don’t think I want to do it again.”

Dan sits quietly, carefully considering their response before replying. “I’m glad you came with us, but I know it’s not for everyone.”

“I want to be helpful.” She puts her glasses back on and meets Dan’s eyes. “If you two will let me. Just behind the scenes.” One corner of her mouth quirks up. “I could start by, oh, I don’t know, doing a bunch of research for you.”

Dan grimaces. “I know. I suck. I’m gonna read everything tomorrow.”

“You don’t have to rush, I just thought maybe we could talk about it.” She glances toward the doors, then back to Dan. “It might be a good idea to talk to Phyl, too. I’m worried about her.”

Before Dan can ask why, one of the doors opens, and Phyl climbs up into the van. The conversation is dropped. They all talk for a little while, mainly about inconsequential things. Gwen tells Phyl what she told Dan about not wanting to repeat the ghost hunting experience. Phyl is sweet and understanding.

The conversation lulls. Gwen announces her intention to go to sleep, and lies down on one of the raised beds, which haven’t been used since James and Michael were part of Happy Phantoms. She could probably fit with Dan and Phyl on the floor, but it would be tight.

Not long after, Dan and Phyl follow suit, as there’s not much point in staying up. Phyl turns off the light and they get cozy under the blankets. Dan lies facing Phyl’s back, close but not holding her. They stare at the back of her head, and when their eyes adjust to the darkness, Phyl’s hair separates from the shadows around it, spilling like ink across her pillow. Dan watches the outline of her body rise and fall.

They don’t want to close their eyes. They’re worried, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! 
> 
> [ reblog on tumblr ](https://velvetnautilus.tumblr.com/private/621307847933935616/tumblr_CpnjdV66TYtp7oyn2)


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time for something different!
> 
> This chapter is a collection of excerpts from Gwen’s research. The majority of these were written by me, but there are a few from actual books. I’ve marked those ones with an asterisk* after the citation. The quotes from other books have for the most part been removed from their original contexts to suit my own purposes, so if you were to actually read those books you’ll find that they really have nothing to do at all with the ghost lore of this universe.
> 
> As for the ones I’ve made up, any similarities to the names of real people or publications is entirely coincidental.

“I think the ghosts do not want to hurt us, as many of us do not want to hurt them. But we are forces in conflict. Like two chemicals doomed to explode upon meeting. The chemicals are amoral, but that makes no difference when they are introduced. “

(Excerpt from  _ The Hardest Truths _ , unpublished manuscript by Nan Cole, 1952)

\--

“Before you dabble in these parlour tricks, you must be aware of the myriad unpleasantries . . . and the rending of the soul, which causes great pain to anyone whose misfortune it is to hear it… “

(Excerpt from  _ Ritual, Séance, and Conjuring _ by Frank Worthing, 1904)

\--

“As a  _ clairvoyant _ person sees through the eye of the spirit of the etheric body, of which our physical body is the envelope, so a  _ clairaudient  _ person hears through the inner ears or to put it more simply, the ear of the etheric body. We must bear in mind that we possess already these two bodies, the etheric and the physical bodies, the one encasing the other as the atmospheric air represents the lower physical manifestation of the “higher physical” etheric element, which it encloses.”

(Excerpt from  _ Do The Dead Depart? And Other Questions _ by E. Katharine Bates, 1908)*

\--

“Some people hear melodies, some hear screams, and some poor bastards—I have been told—do not simply hear so much as feel the great wailing.”

(Excerpt from a comment by user defunct_demon on the  _ Ghost Maniacs _ forum (archived webpage), 1999)

\--

“The participants surveyed said the distress calls were painful to hear, which has led them to put as much distance between themselves and ghosts as possible. Unfortunately, it seems individuals with this type of extra-sensory perception are often magnets for the paranormal.”

(Excerpt from the post “Experiments May-July 2003” on the blog  _ Seeking Some Kind of Truth _ by K. V. Kwok, 2003)

\--

“Of all the spirit manifestations, the simplest and most frequent are sounds and rappings; . . . they are dry blows, sometimes hollow, feeble, and light, sometimes clear, distinct, and noisy, which change from place to place, and are repeated with mechanical regularity…Let us admit, now, that, by a minute verification, the certainty is acquired that the noises or other effects are real manifestations; is it rational to be afraid of them? No, assuredly; for in any case there could not be the least danger in them . . . It must be admitted that these manifestations acquire, under certain circumstances, a persistence and proportion very disagreeable, creating a very natural desire to be relieved of them.”

(Excerpt from  _ Experimental Spiritism. Book on Mediums… _ by Allan Kardec, 1874)*

\--

“The simple truth is, I think, that spirits are volatile in their stubbornness. They reject what is good for them. Like a child who does not want to be told to go to sleep, but then finds respite from an exhausting day once he or she relents. The next night the child fights again.”

(Excerpt from “Wednesday’s Child: My Life as a Spiritual Conduit” by Janelle Jayne, from the zine  _ The Paranormal Normal _ , Volume 1, Issue 16, 1961)

\--

“And so we hunted down the source of the incessant, unnatural howling and found it to be an ill or injured canine beast—likely a wolf or half-wolf, but of a condition so deteriorated it was impossible to accurately identify. Upon careful observation we discovered a most uncomfortable fact. When the beast howled, its jaws and throat did not move in the way they should if it were indeed emitting a natural sound. We realized that the sound was not being created by the beast itself, but from something within it. After some deliberation, we concluded that the best thing to do was destroy it and end its misery. We gutted the beast and released the parasite. I do not know where it went from there. Sometimes I lie awake at night wondering if it now infects some other host.”

(Excerpt from a journal by an unknown author, date unknown)

\--

“The abyss of the soul is forever crying out to the abyss of the Spirit asking: ‘Which is the deeper?’ But neither is deeper. Both are incomprehensibly and immeasurably deepest.”

(Excerpt from  _ Thoughts on Things Psychic _ by Walter Winston Kenilworth, 1911)*

\--

“Every person who feels, in any degree whatever, the influence of the spirits, is a medium. This faculty is inherent in man, and consequently not an exclusive privilege; so there are few in whom are not found some rudiments of it.

It might thus be said that very nearly every one is a medium. Usually, this qualification is applied only to those in whom the medianimic faculty is clearly characterized, and shown by visible effects of a certain intensity, which depends on an organization more or less sensitive. It must be remarked that this faculty is not revealed in the same manner with all; mediums, usually, have a special aptitude for such or such order of phenomena, which makes as many varieties as there are kinds of manifestations.”

(Excerpt from  _ Experimental Spiritism. Book on Mediums… _ by Allan Kardec, 1874)*

\--

“Behind the singing there are whispers. We sense there are words but we cannot discern the exact nature of the words. We don’t worry too much about it. We let the whispers melt with the song. We don’t trouble ourselves with meanings. We are only concerned with how the sound feels and makes us feel. We feel good.

Though the singing is the most important thing, the thing that will bring about the joining, the ghosts are so excited to see one another that they cannot help but ask questions and send greetings and laugh and cry as well. They whisper back and forth with each other between breaths and notes. Hello, hello, hello, how I have missed you, how good to see you, hello, hello, hello.

The flurry of activity causes the people joined within the cloud of ghosts to rise a bit. They are buoyed up by the ghosts’ activity. The ghosts are barely conscious of the people now, they are so wrapped up in each other, in the song and the joining. They must join together, they must sing until they become each other, one another all together. It will be good. Wonderful. They sing and sing and sing.

And then it happens, a split second shift when all the ghosts become one being, one breath, one note—the last note, the coda calling out. The wind dies down and like a candle snuffed they vanish. Because that is what happens when the ghosts join together here. When they make the final connection, they all disappear. They have sung themselves out the happiest they could ever be. They will be no more. But they went out together, as one, a singing ghost. They are glad.

No one will remember the ghosts. No one exactly knew what they were. Even they did not know. They only knew the feeling. The feeling was good. It felt good but also right—this is what was meant to happen, this is what we must do. The ghosts that became the ghost knew they were fulfilling their one true desire. The ghost that lived for just a breath, that sang just one note, that ghost that then was gone, was made of all the ghosts and would take them all with it, because they were it and it was them. One and all, many and one. The ghost was happy . . . The ghost fulfilled itself. The ghost was good . . .

So it goes and on it goes from me to you and all of us. The ghost is gone. The ghost goes on.”

(Excerpt from  _ Good Ghost: Tales of Benevolent Spirits _ by various authors, from a chapter by X. Zell, 2002)

\--

“We were overtaken by a powerful energy that consumed our minds and bodies, bringing ecstasy but also deep, destructive pain.“

(Excerpt from “My Experiences with the Other Side” by Alena Salvas, from the magazine  _ Close Ghost Encounters _ , Volume 3, Issue 6, 1973)

\--

“Has the exercise of mediumship dangers of itself, in a hygienic point of view, even if not abused?’

‘There are cases where it is prudent, necessary even, to abstain from it, or, at least, to moderate its use; that depends on the physical and moral state of the medium. Besides, the medium generally feels it, and when he experiences fatigue, he should abstain.”

(Excerpt from  _ Experimental Spiritism. Book on Mediums… _ by Allan Kardec, 1874)*

\--

“A spirit in turmoil enacts turmoil on all it touches, polluting flesh, breath, air, and soul. It poisons the blood and disrupts the organs. It is an unseen pox, and therefore a being best dispatched by any means necessary.”

(Excerpt from  _ The Unseen Bond; An Examination of the Invisible Relationship Between the Living and Dead _ by John Joseph Blackwell, 1897)

\--

“I have even heard, by word of mouth, of the existence of percipients with a genuine ability to visually perceive the ghost’s energy. But I have never confirmed this beyond hoaxes, and it is called into question by the brain’s ability to easily mislead.”

(Excerpt from a letter by Ro Malone to Marcus Grave, date unknown)

\--

“He said it started when he was very little . . . He had just come home from his first long stint in the hospital, and he was upstairs in his bed, sleeping. Something woke him up—a noise outside maybe, and he sat up in bed. It was pitch black, blacker than any darkness he had ever seen or been enveloped in. It was unnaturally dark, he said. There were no lights from outside, not even the moon shining, and his nightlight that was always plugged into the wall by the door was out too. He could feel a presence. At first he thought the presence was the darkness itself but then he realized that the darkness was the presence’s shadow. I asked him how he knew this and he said it was just a truth that came into his head, like a fact, like how you know when you see a shadow that it is a shadow even if you don’t know what’s casting it. Once you know what a shadow is you recognize a shadow. So he was surrounded by shadows. And the presence was below him, above him, all around him. It wasn’t malevolent. It didn’t seem to be anything at all really, except that it was there. Its existence was its only characteristic. He sat up for a while, just feeling it move around him, and then eventually he fell back asleep. When he woke up the next morning the sun was coming through the window and his nightlight was still on . . .

Sometimes he almost thought he saw them, smoky wisps darting between the branches, but he was sure it was just his eyes and his mind playing tricks on him. Often they were very quiet, but sometimes, very early in the morning, when the world was still, he heard them. ‘In the woods they sing,’ he told me. ‘I can’t describe it, but they sing.’

I went into the woods alone and I tried to feel them. I listened as hard as I could, like I listened every night in the dark as I lay in my bed unable to sleep. I followed the paths and traipsed the unmarked ground. I snuck out of the house before sunrise to wait for the morning. But the woods were the same as always to me. I could not feel, I could not hear, I certainly could not see. One day I was so frustrated and desperate I cried. I sat on the cold ground and sobbed because I wanted to feel the ghosts. I wanted to feel you, to find you.” 

(Excerpt from an archived, now deleted blog post by Julia C., 2011)

\--

“Lost in the forest, so lost you forget the trees, forget yourself. Dead and gone. Whispery ghosts rising from the floor. But do ghosts know what they are? Who they are? Or are they just there—more like rain or fog then people? There is no knowing.”

(Excerpt from  _ Good Ghost: Tales of Benevolent Spirits _ by various authors, from a chapter by Marylou Knight, 2002)

\--

“My research supports my long-held belief that when mediums get together, their powers of perception are greatly amplified. In some cases, contact with a medium has been shown to awaken these powers in people for whom they were previously dormant. I don’t mean to say that a sixth sense is contagious; this contact just stirs up the unconscious abilities.”

(Excerpt from the diary of Sasha S., c.1975)

\--

“If you were lost and wandering, you’d seek safety too. Even without proper consciousness or humanity, all things crave a home.”

(Excerpt from  _ Life and Everything After: Poems and Essays _ by Heather Slate, 1986)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! i hope this chapter was enlightening and/or confusing >:)
> 
> [ reblog on tumblr ](https://velvetnautilus.tumblr.com/private/621932441879412737/tumblr_BjAMbxltmoke4fTSg)


	20. Chapter 20

“I’m not saying you’re hurting them. Just a certain part of the process may be stressing them out. Like putting them in the buggy.”

Dan glances at Phyl out of the corner of their eye. Phyl’s gaze stays tethered to the van window, where it’s been since this conversation started.

“I’m just saying, it’s a small, confined space, right? Could be scary.”

“You don’t know,” says Phyl. “You don’t know what it’s like. Or how it feels.”

“Yeah, well, you don’t know what it sounds like. It’s fucking shit.” Dan regrets their harsh tone immediately. “Sorry.”

Phyl doesn’t reply. All Dan wants is for her to engage with all of the new information Gwen and they uncovered. They don’t know exactly what everything means, but none of it can be ignored. Yet Phyl is unreasonably stubborn when it comes to discussing anything specifically relevant to her.

She was excited about Dan indeed having paranormal perception, intrigued by the idea of their meeting awakening or heightening Dan’s abilities, and still determined to help them find a way to take the discomfort out of those abilities. But when Dan suggests that the nature of Phyl’s method of capturing and transporting ghosts might be uniquely responsible for the distress calls, she withdraws.

“Forget the ghosts, okay? I don’t want  _ you _ to get hurt.”

Phyl touches Dan’s elbow for a moment. “I’m not going to get hurt, okay? Well, I might trip over my own feet walking across the floor or get bitten by a rogue city badger while taking the bins out, but I’ve been doing this ghost thing for a while without trouble.”

Dan doesn’t find that reassuring. But they don’t interrupt when Phyl continues.

“You’re the one we need to be worried about. I know the distress call is painful for you, and I want to find a way to make it stop.”

_ But you won’t consider your role in causing it _ , Dan thinks, somewhat bitterly. But they can’t put all the blame on her when Dan chooses over and over again to take part in the ghost hunts. Dan thinks about the long-healed burns on their shoulder and palms. They haven’t mentioned that to anyone, not even Gwen when they asked her for help. That’s definitely an oversight on their part. Is it fair for them to be annoyed by Phyl’s evasiveness if they’re holding that information back?

There is a possibility that it has nothing to do with Phyl at all. That this is just how it’ll always be for Dan if they interact with ghosts, no matter who catches them, how they’re caught, and where they’re put. Some of Gwen’s research supports that idea. Dan may have to avoid ghost hunting all together if they want relief. But they can’t do that to Phyl.

“ _ In one kilometer, turn left _ ,” says Phyl’s phone.

“Oliver texted,” Phyl says. “He arrived and he wants to know if he should go in or wait for us.”

“Tell him to wait.”

“Obviously.”

A few days ago, they received an email from him.

_ Dear Phyl and Dan, _

_ I am now eighteen years old. As per our discussion, I am old enough to work with you. I am still very interested in the position and would love to join your team. I have attached an updated copy of my CV for your consideration. _

_ I hope you will consider me for this amazing opportunity, and I look forward to hearing from you! _

_ Sincerely, _

_ Oliver Shah-Monroe _

_ P.S. I have something very exciting to show you! _

Naturally, they replied right away.

After a few phone calls and many text messages, they arranged for Oliver to officially join them on a case as part of the Happy Phantoms team. Throughout all the planning, he refused to reveal what the “very exciting” surprise was.

“I can’t tell you. You need to see it.”

Dan and Phyl came up with various theories. Maybe he adopted a dog that he hoped could join them (the ideal option), or maybe he’d gotten a tattoo. Maybe he was carrying around a severed head with magical properties (“Phyl. What the fuck is wrong with you?”). If one of them got it right, the other owed them twenty pounds.

Dan had also informed Oliver of their new pronouns via text, to which he’d replied:  _ Cool! So does my friend Davis _

“My faith in the youth is restored,” Dan told Phyl.

Now they’re on their way to meet him at a café not far from his own neighborhood. According to the owner, Gloria, she and her employees have been enduring bizarre and disgusting happenings. Clumps of hair manifest in freshly poured cups of coffee and tea. Milk and cream curdle and turn to black syrup, and maggots appear in the sugar. They had to close the café, and Gloria is afraid she’ll have to lay off many of the staff or even close the doors forever. 

It’s easy to tell when they’ve reached the right building, not just because of the  _ Sugar Plum Café  _ written on the awning in bold turquoise letters, but because Oliver is hunched out front looking at his phone. He springs up when they pull the Mystery Machine into the empty space beside the café that Gloria left clear for them.

Dan throws their door open. “You!” they say, pointing at Oliver with mock hostility. He looks taken aback.

Then the door of the café flies open and he jumps, while Dan nearly falls out onto the ground. Phyl exits the vehicle gracefully. They’re giving all the wrong first impressions to the woman now standing in front of them.

She has a scarf wrapped tight around her mouth and nose. She tugs it down and smirks at them.

“You’re the Phantoms, right? Gloria.”

She shakes each of their hands in turn as they introduce themselves. With formalities out of the way, she runs a hand through her hair and looks over her shoulder, scowling at the café.

“It smells like death in there,” she says. “I can’t even describe it. I have air fresheners in every available outlet and candles burning, but you’ll want to cover your noses anyway. Would you like scarves?”

She must be old enough to be Dan’s mum, but she has a face and voice that makes them a bit flustered. And the way she keeps running her hand through her hair is very distracting.

She disappears back into the café, leaving the door open behind her. Dan notes that the two front windows are open as far as possible.

‘So,” Dan whispers to Phyl. “She’s kind of…”

“I  _ know _ ,” says Phyl, holding her hand to her forehead and pretending to swoon. They both giggle. Oliver looks at them with hopeless confusion.

Gloria reemerges. She’s wearing a coat now and has a purse slung over her shoulder, as well as several scarves in her arms. She hands a black one to Dan.

“Your color,” she says. Phyl widens her eyes at Dan over Gloria’s shoulder and gasps silently, framing her mouth with her hands.

“Thank you,” they say, struggling to keep a straight face. Phyl and Oliver’s scarves do not match their outfits.

Dan and Oliver get the buggy out of the van while Phyl grabs her and Dan’s backpacks. Oliver’s lumpy green duffel bag is still sitting on the ground by the front of the café.

“I’d give you a tour, but I don’t think you’ll need it. Do whatever you must, but just don’t burn the place down, please. Oh, and don’t try to eat or drink anything. Trust me.” She checks the silver watch on her wrist. “Now I have to run. I have a hot date.” She winks.

She walks past them at a brisk pace and disappears down the street without looking back. Dan wonders if she actually has somewhere to be soon, or if she’s just desperate to get away.

“Let’s do this,” says Dan.

They all tie the scarves tightly around their faces. Phyl enters the café first, with Oliver behind her and Dan pushing the buggy behind him.

Dan’s nose is assaulted by a hodgepodge of aromas as soon as they cross the threshold. It’s an unpleasant blend of spicy cinnamon, sweet vanilla, and clashing florals—all from Gloria’s attempts to cover up the ghost’s true odor. Dan can’t smell that yet. A hand flies to Phyl’s mouth and she doubles over, then turns around and pushes past Dan and Oliver to get out of the café. Dan can hear her retching outside. They’re about to follow her when it finally hits them.

The stench brings tears to their eyes and makes them gag. It’s like someone took a rotting fish and dipped it in sewage, then rolled it in sugar. They run out of the café and yank the scarf off, taking deep gulps of fresh air, then sit down next to Phyl on the ground.

“How was she,” Phyl says, drawing a breath between each word, “in there like it’s fine.”

Dan shakes their head. There’s no explanation for it other than Gloria must have a faulty sense of smell. Oliver walks out casually and looks down at them.

“Are you alright?” he asks.

“ _ Alright? _ Can you not smell that?” Dan asks.

Oliver wrinkles his nose. “Well, it sort of smells like my Auntie Aparna’s house when she decides to burn her entire scented candle collection at once. She loves candles, but she can hardly smell anymore, and I guess her logic is the more candles, the stronger the scent, and maybe then she can experience it.”

“Not that,” says Phyl. “The corpse cake smell.”

“Corpse cake?”

“Yeah, the atrocious, overwhelming death perfume that drives mortals mad,” says Dan. They sigh. “Looks like you might have to tackle this one alone, pal.”

“Oh, hold on!” says Oliver. He runs back into the café without even pulling the scarf back up. He returns a few seconds later, placing his duffel bag gently on the ground and kneeling beside it. “I haven’t shown you my surprise.”

It’s definitely not a puppy, then. Dan and Phyl lean forward eagerly as he unzips the bag. He reaches inside and carefully pulls out two objects.

Dan has no idea what their purpose is. The first is a tote bag woven out of what appear to be strips of rather dingy canvas. He unfolds it and stands it up on the ground. There must be some kind of board in the bottom because it doesn’t fold back in on itself, and it has two handles made from canvas strips twisted together. He holds aloft the second object, which looks like a cat toy at first glance. It’s a long stick with a length of twine tied through a hole at one end, from which dangles a stone secured in a cage of more twine.

“Wow,” says Dan. “Those sure are some cool…items.”

“They’re my ghost catching tools!” Oliver puts the stick down and waves his hands around as he talks. “Obviously I haven’t tested them out yet, but I did a lot of research, and I really do think they’ll work if you give them a chance. I sort of had to meld other people’s instructions with what my own intuition was telling me.”

He looks expectantly at them. Dan is intrigued. Phyl just looks lost.

“How did you make them?” Dan asks. “How do they work?”

“Alright, so, the wand is the lure and the bag is the trap. I made the bag with canvas I slept and showered with for thirty days, and a piece of cardboard. There’s nothing special about the cardboard. The stick for the wand was cut from a tree at midnight, and the butcher’s twine and stone were warmed in an oven for short periods of time off and on for a week.”

“You really showered with that thing?” Dan asks, grimacing at the bag.

“The sheet of canvas was just hanging in there where the water could reach it. I didn’t, like, use it to wash myself or anything gross.”

“Okay. And you want to use these to nab the ghost today?”

Oliver nods and presses his palms together. “Yeah, if you guys will please,  _ please _ let me try.”

“I don’t know.” says Phyl. “I don’t think that’s—”

“I think it’s a great idea,” Dan interrupts. Phyl frowns at them, and Oliver smiles wide.

“Seriously?”

“Sure, why not. But me and Phyl still need to find a way to join you.”

“I think the ghost has calmed down some now,” says Phyl. “I think it wanted to make a bold first impression.” She’s avoiding Dan’s eyes, looking at Oliver instead. “Well, at least on Dan and I. But there’s still way too many smells in there. Can you go inside and get rid of everything Gloria set up to mask the ghost?”

Oliver goes back inside, leaving Dan and Phyl alone with his ghost instruments. Dan picks up the so-called wand and examines it. The stick is about the thickness of two fingers and its bark is smooth. The stone is grayish purple and oblong, and it has some weight to it, but not enough to bend the stick.

“Why did you say that?” Phyl asks. “Without giving us a chance to discuss it?”

Dan places the wand beside the bag. “What’s the harm? It’s good to try new things once in a while. And you’ll still be there as back up if it doesn’t work.”

When Phyl doesn’t reply, Dan turns to her and takes her hand. “You’re not really upset, are you? I didn’t think it was such a big deal.”

“No…I’m not,” Phyl says slowly. “I think I was just thrown off by the whole thing.” She stares at the canvas bag. “I guess neither of us is getting that twenty pounds.”

Oliver returns and Dan lets go of Phyl’s hand.

“The coast is clear,” he says. “I hope. It does smell bad in there now, but not enough to make you feel sick.”

The odor inside the café is unpleasant but tolerable. It’s an unwashed, greasy smell, like the place hasn’t been cleaned in ages. Its appearance disproves that. Everything looks neat and tidy—chairs pushed in around cleared tables, no visible trash anywhere, no grime to be seen. They go behind the counter and nothing is amiss there either, nor is there anything unpleasant in the small backroom. Yet. Dan hasn’t forgotten the details of the haunting Gloria described.

“Can a ghost really make maggots and hair manifest out of nothing?” they muse aloud. “Isn’t that what people used to think anyway—that maggots just appeared without cause?”

“Like spontaneous generation,” says Oliver.

“I don’t think a ghost can create things,” says Phyl. She looks at Oliver and answers his point before he raises it. “Living things, that is. it’s probably just influencing things to gather in certain areas. Sucking stray hair into one spot, convincing flies to lay eggs here or there.”

“Or it’s just ghost-induced hallucinations,” Dan adds.

“I guess anything is possible.”

The light is beginning to fade outside, so they flip some switches and illuminate the café. They all inspect the wares in the backroom, looking for evidence of the haunting, but come up empty. After being in the café for a while, Dan adjusts to the smell and doesn’t even notice it anymore. 

Phyl says she can barely hear the ghost. She describes it as the sound of a leaky pipe in the wall. Oliver can’t hear it at all.

“What if I’ve lost my abilities?” he asks, clutching his wand and bag. “I couldn’t smell anything at first either.” Phyl tells him she very much doubts that’s true.

After an uneventful hour, they sit down together at one of the tables.

“So, how is your fishing pole thing meant to work?” Phyl asks Oliver.

“Uh, well, basically, you use the  _ wand _ to lure the ghost into the bag. Then I suppose I—or someone—would have to tip it into the buggy.”

“But why would a ghost care about some rock?” she says.

Oliver looks hurt.

“Maybe,” says Dan, “It’ll all make sense when it happens.”

“It just seems too easy,” says Phyl. “Anybody can shower with canvas or cook a rock—”

“ _ Phyl _ .”

Phyl closes her mouth and seems to finally register the effect her words are having on Oliver. He looks completely dejected, eyes fixed on the tabletop, shoulders slumped, hands folded in his lap.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I don’t know what I’m talking about. Just because anyone can make it, doesn’t mean anyone can use it. I bet it’ll work.”

Oliver smiles hesitantly.

Dan’s not sure if Phyl actually thinks it will, but they really hope it works. It would be awesome to witness, and it would give Oliver a big confidence boost. It might also show Phyl that her way is not the only way. Dan already knows that, every ghost hunter on Beyond the Veil and everywhere else they’ve traveled on the internet knows that, but maybe Phyl needs to experience it to believe it.

“There is one more thing. I’m supposed to put something that appeals to the ghost in the bag. I thought you could help with that,” he says timidly to Phyl, “because you’re good at figuring out what they want.”

Phyl brightens at that, smiling before she closes her eyes and her face folds up in concentration. Stepping into familiar territory must ease her doubts.

“I think it’s…hungry,” she says, feeling out her thoughts aloud. “Yeah. The maggots in the sugar. The hair. The disgusting appetite-ruining smell. I don’t mean that ghosts eat, but…” She puts a hand on her chest and then clenches it into a fist.

Oliver looks completely enraptured. “I don’t understand at all,” he says, “But I one-hundred percent believe you.”

Dan throws their head back and laughs. “Shit. You said it, not me.”

Phyl stands up. “Come on. Let’s get some snacks and find this bitch.”

They gather a feast of hardened Danish pastries, little cakes with sweaty icing, and muffins that are either dusted with sugar or mold. The bakery case clearly hasn’t been receiving much attention since the café closed. But considering the circumstances, what would be the point in maintaining it?

Dan eyes a lone pistachio muffin that appears unscathed.

“I’m feeling a bit peckish myself,” they say.

“Don’t even joke,” says Phyl, gazing longing at a handful of chocolate chip cookies before tossing them into Oliver’s bag. “It’s all ghostly trickery.”

“Is that enough?” Oliver asks, wiping his hands together to dislodge crumbs.

A loud thump comes from the trash bins by the door. They all freeze and turn to it. The thumping continues, mixed with the sound of claws on plastic and trash being shuffled around. Or so it seems.

Phyl and Oliver look at each other and have a wordless conversation while Dan watches. She nods and he creeps back to the table to pick up the wand.

“You get the bag,” Phyl whispers to Dan. “I think if I get too close, I won’t be able to stop myself. And I want to give him a chance.” She backs away toward the counter, closes her eyes, and clenches her jaw.

Dan picks up the bag. The weight of the food inside it is reassuring somehow. It makes it feel more substantial. Capable of containing a spirit. They head toward Oliver and the bins. He grips the wand like it’s a weapon to wield against intruders, the stone swinging wide as his hands shake.

“Relax,” Dan tells him. “You’ve got this one in the bag.” Behind them, Phyl fails to suppress a short laugh. “Well, not literally. Yet. But we’re about to.”

“Okay,” says Oliver. “Okay.” He’s stopped moving.

“Uh, Oliver?”

“I can’t do it.”

“Yes, you can.”

“Dan,” says Phyl. “Bring the buggy closer so you can get it inside quick.” Her voice is strained. Dan turns and sees that she’s gone behind the counter, hands gripping the sides of the till like if she lets go she’ll rush past both of them and get the ghost herself. “Oliver, I don’t understand how that thing works, but I believe in you one-hundred percent.”

Oliver’s grip on the wand loosens a bit. He mumbles something to himself, squares his shoulders, and closes the distance between himself and the bins. He raises the wand up and lets the stone swing in front of one of the flaps in the bin case. It begins to flutter back and forth until finally flying open and staying that way.

“Now!” he shouts, backing up quickly.

The stone defies gravity, floating in the air like it’s tied to the bin as well as the wand. Dan holds the bag open wide, heart pounding. They wish they could see the ghost. When Oliver is a few steps from them, the stone suddenly drops and swings the other way, in the direction of the bag. The canvas heats up in Dan’s hands. It’s not painful; it’s like it’s coming  _ alive.  _ Time stops, and then Oliver is yanking the bag out of their hands. He throws it into the buggy and slams the lid down.

Dan is dazed. Did they really just help Oliver catch the ghost? He sinks to the floor, breathing heavily.

“Wow,” he says. “Shit. Wow. I didn’t mean to put the whole bag in, but I panicked.”

Phyl comes out from behind the counter, clapping.

“That was incredible!” she says. “Honestly.”

“I can’t believe I did it...We did it.”

Phyl claps Dan on the shoulder as she passes them on her way to Oliver and the buggy. The brief touch presses Dan’s headphones against their neck.

The headphones that weren’t over their ears.

“I didn’t hear it,” they whisper.

“Hmm?” says Phyl. She’s examining the wand.

“I didn’t hear it,” Dan says, louder. “When Oliver put the ghost in the buggy. I didn’t hear it. I didn’t hear anything.”

Phyl’s face is blank. They stare at each other. Dan feels dizzy and their pulse pounds in their ears. Then Phyl’s face breaks into a huge smile.

“Dan! That’s fantastic!”

“Is it?” they ask. It doesn’t feel fantastic. It feels like they’ve forgotten something desperately important. Something from a dream that melted away upon awakening.

But then Phyl is hugging them, and they let their body melt into it—just for a moment, before a sour realization hits.

“It’s not about the buggy, Phyl,” they say, pulling away to look her in the face. “The distress call isn’t about the ghosts being afraid of the buggy. So, then it has to be about—we only did  _ one thing _ differently—”

“I’m tired,” says Phyl, leaning back in to hug Dan uncomfortably tight.

Oliver clears his throat, and Dan twists their neck to look at him.

“What do we do now?” he asks.

“We need to get in touch with Gloria,” says Phyl, slipping away from Dan. “Then I think we deserve some food. Uh, not from here though.”

Dan wants to contact Gwen. They can talk things over, and maybe Dan can figure out what their brain is trying to tell them. Then maybe Gwen can help Dan convince Phyl to just sit the fuck down with them and stop avoiding everything.

But food sounds good, too.

They all gather around a table and Phyl takes out her phone to text Gloria.

“If she really is on that hot date I don’t know if she’ll check her texts,” she says. “Bet she didn’t expect us to be so efficient either.” She finishes the message and puts her phone down.

“It really worked,” says Oliver, still in a pleasant shock. “I wove a bag out of soggy fabric and tied a stick to a rock and it  _ worked. _ ”

“Fuck yeah, it did,” says Dan.

Phyl makes a strange face and moves her tongue around in her cheek. She reaches into her mouth and pulls out something small and red

Oliver knows what it is before Dan does. “Whoa, is that your tooth?”

Dan grabs Phyl’s wrist to steady her hand. She is indeed holding a bottom tooth with a long, bloody root between her thumb and forefinger. She drops it into the palm of her other hand and stares at it in wonder.

“My tooth came out.”

“What the hell, Phyl. What the fuck.”

“Are you okay?” asks Oliver.

“It felt kind of wobbly when I brushed my teeth this morning but I—it didn’t seem  _ that  _ wobbly. I must’ve knocked it loose when I fell the other day. Showers are dangerous.”

“Oh…okay.” He looks bewildered.

Dan is going to lose their mind. “That was over a week ago. You tripped coming out of the shower practically two weeks ago.”

“Huh,” says Phyl, infuriatingly nonchalant. She closes her hand around the tooth. “Guess I’d better make an appointment with my dentist.”

Dan kind of wants to flip the table, but instead they take a deep breath and force themself to chill.

“I’d kill for a muffin right now. Can you handle that?”

“Yeah, I still have most of my teeth.”

“Can I come, too?” Oliver asks.

“Of course,” says Phyl.

“You legally have to.”

“This is the best day of my life,” he says, then reconsiders. “Well, maybe top ten.”

Dan watchs Phyl intently as she gets up and goes to fetch a napkin. She wraps it around the tooth and twists it closed before shoving it in her jeans pocket.

Maybe Phyl really did “knock it loose” when she fell, or during some other attack of clumsiness since then. Maybe her insatiable desire for sweets and midnight marmalade toast habit are catching up with her. Maybe she’s been munching on particularly chewy toffee. There was surely some boring explanation. Shit happens, right?

It’s just a tooth.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading! according to my current outline there should be eight more chapters, give or take a few :0
> 
> [ reblog on tumblr ](https://velvetnautilus.tumblr.com/private/623202910531141632/tumblr_zm61eZGVR0kY7aydB)


	21. Chapter 21

Dan wakes up in a strange bed. Then, after a half minute of disorientation, they remember that it isn’t a strange bed, just a new one. It’s only been a week of sleeping in their shared flat with Phyl, and every morning they’ve gone through the same process. Dan wonders how long it will take for their brain to understand they’re waking up at home.

The new bed is vast. The first night they properly laid down on it, Dan thought that it’s the kind of bed people imagine when they fantasize about dying peacefully in their sleep. When they told Phyl that, she looked at them with concerned displeasure and said, “No one is dying in this bed.” Then she leaned down to kiss them.

Dan rolls onto their bark and looks up at the new ceiling, smooth and high above their head. Not a single crack or blemish. They stretch out their limbs, fully extending into the empty space beside them. Phyl must be up already.

They dreamt about Phyl last night. The two of them had run away to join a circus after accidentally flooding their flat. At the circus, they were hired to perform a knife throwing act. They argued over who would be the knife thrower and who would have the knives thrown at them—or rather, around them. They agreed that Phyl couldn’t be trusted to throw the knives, but Dan refused to throw them if it was in her direction, so they got kicked out of the circus. Dan’s pretty sure it was just a normal, silly dream, nothing deeper or potentially prophetic. They miss the days when all their dreams were like that.

Dan gets up and heads to the kitchen. Sunshine falls through the sky light above the kitchen island, making the black marble gleam. Several of the cabinets are open—evidence of Phyl’s recent activity—but she isn’t there. The tap is spilling a steady stream into the sink, which is peculiar, because for all her forgetfulness, leaving water running is not something Phyl does.

Dan steps further into the kitchen, and that’s when they see it—a hand sticking out from behind the island, limp fingers facing up like the legs of a dead insect on its back. Dan’s stomach drops like they’ve missed a rung on a ladder, and they race across the floor.

Phyl is lying on her side, eyes closed. A mug is shattered by her head, brown instant coffee powder spilling out of it. Dan makes a noise that’s half her name, half a shriek, and Phyl’s eyes fly open. She groans and sits up, holding her head.

“What happened?” Dan cries, dropping down beside her.

“I must have fainted,” she says. Her eyes focus on the mess. “Oh no! That was one of my favorite mugs.”

“What do you mean, you fainted?”

“I was going to fill the kettle for my coffee, then I got dizzy and  _ shwoop _ —everything went black. And then you got here.”

Dan’s mind is racing while Phyl’s seems to be leisurely strolling, and yet they’re still struggling to keep up with her.

“What do we do now? Should we go to A&E? Did you hit your head? Break any bones?” They want to touch Phyl, but they don’t want to hurt her, so Dan’s hands just dance frantically in the space between them.

“Dan—Dan, slow down.” She looks around, squinting. “We don’t need to go anywhere. I just need to sit here for a moment, so I don’t faint again. Where did my glasses go?”

“Why are you so calm?” Dan has had enough, honestly, of Phyl’s anxiety failing to extend to herself. It’s not like they want her to panic, or plunge into the worst-case-scenario pit anytime something happens, but  _ fuck _ , she could at least take into consideration how this affects Dan. 

“Because it’s happened before. A few times. I went to hospital and had tests and even an MRI done, but they couldn’t find anything wrong. Apparently, it’s just something that happens sometimes, like when my body is stressed.”

So, it’s not out of the blue. That explains a little. Dan fainted themself, once, before they knew Phyl. They stood up, their blood pressure plummeted, and they crashed through a table. If Phyl had been there she would have freaked out. Hypocrite.

Phyl feels around behind her and finds her glasses in the shadows beneath the under-sink cabinets.

“Well, why is your body so stressed?”

“Hmm, I don’t know. Moving can be stressful. I think I’m getting a cold, too.”

“Right, that’s probably why your teeth are falling out—moving stress and the common cold.”

“ _ Tooth _ . One tooth, singular.”

Dan stands up with care. It would be an awful (yet hilarious) time for them to also faint. “I’m gonna get a broom. Don’t move.”

Phyl hums a reply and sits dutifully still while Dan cleans up the mess around her.

“Can you make me a coffee?” she asks, as Dan shakes the shards of ceramic in the dustpan into the bin. “And some cereal? Since I’m much too fragile to do it myself?”

“How about I make you your last meal?” Dan snaps. But they do as Phyl asks, after seeing to it that she’s safely deposited on the sofa.

Dan gets their own cereal and joins Phyl. They put on a news program Phyl hates, especially in the morning when it’s “too early to think about the world,” but she just eats her cereal and doesn’t comment.

“I was looking forward to a shower,” she says, putting her empty bowl down on the coffee table. “But maybe I shouldn’t risk it.”

“I guess I can endure the smell for one day,” says Dan. They lift a spoonful but stop short of their mouth.

Wait. The shower.

“You didn’t trip getting out of the shower.” They put their bowl down next to Phyl’s, a bit of milk spilling over the side.

“What?” Phyl is looking at the screen like she’s suddenly interested.

“You said you tripped getting out of the shower, but that was a lie, right? You fainted, didn’t you?”

Phyl looks down and bites her lip. “I didn’t want you to worry.”

“That’s even worse!” Phyl flinches at Dan’s volume, so they continue in a more level voice, “I need to know what’s going on with you, for the sake of my sanity.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Promise me you’ll tell me if something else happens. Or happened.”

Phyl looks at Dan and nods vigorously. “I promise. It was stupid not to tell you.”

She looks sincere, so Dan decides to trust her. Phyl isn’t usually secretive, at least not with Dan.  _ But how would you know if she’s keeping secrets?  _ Dan refuses to humor that train of thought. They’re not going to let insecurity run wild today.

After they finish eating, Dan tells Phyl she should still make an appointment to see a doctor, then heads to take a shower. Phyl changes the channel the second they leave the room.

Dan is in the middle of conditioning their hair when Phyl raps repeatedly on the bathroom door.

“What?” they shout over the noise of the water.

Phyl says something unintelligible.

“It’s open!”

Dan pokes their head out from behind the shower curtain as Phyl enters the bathroom, open laptop in hand. She sits down on the toilet lid and starts jabbering excitedly.

“Remember when I contacted all those people on Beyond the Veil? One of the admins just got back to me with the email address of a woman who used to be a mod on the forum in its early days but hasn’t been there in a long time. They said she’s one of the most knowledgeable people they’ve ever met, and she could probably help us. They said they’d give her a heads up to expect a message.” She takes a deep breath and smiles at Dan. “That’s good, right?”

“Yeah,” Dan says slowly. “That’s great.” It’s also a little overwhelming. “Listen, give me five minutes, and I’ll be out, okay?”

“Sure!” Phyl leaves the bathroom with as much spring in her step as when she entered. It’s a relief to see she seems to be doing fine. Dan’s still going to keep bugging her about seeing a doctor.

Dan actually takes their time finishing up their shower so they can get their thoughts in order. They don’t know what to make of this mysterious person who may have more answers. She might not know anything more than what Gwen’s research already turned up, but being able to converse with someone now is different than reading words from the past.

When Dan finally walks into the lounge, Phyl’s head pops up like a meerkat over the back of the sofa. Dan rolls their eyes and smiles as they go to take a seat beside her.

“So, who the hell are we emailing?”

Phyl hands them a slip of paper. “You should be the one to do it, by yourself. You can explain best what’s happening to you, and I don’t want to get in the way.”

Dan regards the email address written in Phyl’s cute, clumsy handwriting. Underneath it is the name  _ Ruby. _

“Is there anything you don’t want me to say?” they ask. “About you?”

Phyl shakes her head. “Tell her everything you have to.” She squeezes their shoulder and stands up. “I have some editing to do. Let me know if you need me.”

Dan picks up their laptop from the coffee table. They open up their email account, click to compose a new message, type in the address…and then just stare at the empty white box. Phyl said this Ruby was given a head’s up, so at least they won’t be like  _ What the fuck? Who is this bitch?  _ if they message her. Out of the blue or not, the worst that could happen is she just won’t reply. Or she will at first, then stop. Like Maddie. But they weren’t even that helpful anyway. Who needs them?

Dan thinks back to when everything began. The first ghost hunt, the first time she heard the distress call, and all the times afterward. The nightmares. Phyl. She told Dan they’d figure this out. They start typing.

Phyl said to tell everything. So they do. Their account to this stranger is more comprehensive than any they’ve given so far. Dan worries that they’re rambling, maybe being somewhat incomprehensible at times. But it’s not a formal essay, it’s not a news article—it’s just the mess of so many months, so many moments begging for clarity. For answers. They read the email back twice through to check for typos (and find quite a few). Then they hit send and close their laptop.

Dan has their own work to do today. Coding to tweak, graphics to perfect. It’ll be good to have something to keep their mind occupied instead of waiting and worrying over a reply that surely won’t come right away.

The day progresses as normal. Phyl and they do their work alone, coming together for breaks and meals. Dan maybe checks up on Phyl more than necessary, afraid they’ll find her on the floor again. But nothing happens. Then after dinner Dan looks at their email for the twentieth time, and there’s a reply from Ruby.

“Shit.”

“What?”

“I got a reply from the ghost expert lady.”

Phyl drops the plate she was rinsing off into the sink and runs over to the table, where Dan’s still sitting. She takes a seat across from them, respectfully not looking over their shoulder even though Dan is sure she wants to.

Dan opens the email and sees at a glance that the reply to her memoir-length message is heart-sinkingly short. Just two paragraphs.

Their disappointment must be visible, because Phyl asks in a gentle voice, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I haven’t even read it yet.”

_ Hi Dan, _

_ I’m positive you’re hearing a ghost’s distress call, but I don’t think it’s coming from the ghosts your girlfriend is catching. I need her to message me with a complete, detailed account of her entire history with ghosts, as soon as possible. Tell her to stop absorbing them NOW. _

_ I also need to talk with both of you face to face. I’m currently in the U.S. but judging by your spelling you may not be, so we’ll have to schedule a video chat. We can figure that out after I read her email. _

_ Talk soon, _

_ Ruby _

The message manages to be both comforting and distressing. Ruby seems confident in her current assessment of the situation (whatever it is) and committed to helping them. But that  _ NOW  _ is worrisome. Hopefully, it’ll also be convincing.

Dan passes their phone to Phyl.

“Read it.”

Phyl’s frown deepens as her eyes scan the words. She hands the phone back to Dan with care, like dropping it could damage the email.

“It seems I have some writing to do.”

“And?” Dan asks, raising a brow. They need to hear her acknowledge Ruby’s full instructions.

“And Oliver and his magic bag are gonna have their work cut out for them. For now.”

Dan can see it pains Phyl to say it. But she has, and she’s serious. Out of all the warnings and advice she’s crossed paths with over the years, finally something has gotten through to her. Dan’s not sure why this vague, short message has that power. But they already like Ruby.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading!
> 
> [ reblog on tumblr ](https://velvetnautilus.tumblr.com/private/624198016067387392/tumblr_9S34aIFHTeZ5GAAkm)


	22. Chapter 22

“Do we have them here in the U.K.?” Oliver asks Phyl.

“No.”

“Is it a kangaroo?” asks Dan.

“Yes!” Phyl cries, clapping her hands together with a loud crack. “And you got it in under twenty.”

Dan smiles smugly. They’ve won Phyl’s last three rounds. Phyl seems to have forgotten that Dan guessing correctly in under twenty questions means she’s lost.

“You’re cheating,” says Oliver.

Phyl shakes her head. “No, Dan’s just psychic. I’ve always said.”

“Hey,” says Dan. “Don’t give ESP credit for my massive intellect. Besides, you’re just painfully predictable.”

“Can we play a different game?” Oliver asks. “I’m tired of losing.”

“How about we raise the stakes. You be the answer master, and if I can’t get it in under twenty, I have to,” Phyl looks around. “…lick one of the coins in the pond.”

“But what if you  _ do  _ get it?” Oliver looks concerned that Phyl is going to force him to lick coins.

Dan bops her on the head. “Firstly, I think you’re having enough mouth trouble as it is, and secondly, are you eight years old?”

Phyl smiles and sighs, leaning back into the bench she’s sharing with Dan. Oliver sits across from them on a chair they dragged out here to the courtyard from the dining patio. They’re at a very expensive and currently very vacant hotel. The culprit is a ghost haunting the centerpiece of the courtyard—a large, round pond bordered by smooth white stones and tiny shrubberies. A fountain in the form of a vaguely Grecian woman pouring water from a bowl held aloft once stood in the center of the pond, but the ghost had caused a wind so strong that a heavy plant pot had flown at it and beheaded her. The owners had removed the rest of the statue the following day.

Decapitation is only one of the crimes of which the ghost is accused. Its winds had also drenched guests walking by with water, knocked small children off their feet, and caused champagne flutes to burst into shards of glass.

But the ghost hasn’t done anything destructive or disturbing since Happy Phantoms arrived on the scene. Phyl and Oliver said they could hear a sound like a sort of lazy singing, a voice that meandered and trailed off and then picked back up its song in an entirely different key. Oliver was excited because it’s the first time he’s heard a ghost make a pleasant sound.

It’s a beautiful evening. The moon is nearly full, reflected perfectly on the surface of the pond. Whenever a light breeze passes through the courtyard, the water ripples gently and makes the moon dance. It almost feels like the ideal setting for a romantic date. Except they’re on the job, and Oliver is there. And that morning Phyl had come up to Dan and told them—unprompted—that her mouth hurt too much to kiss today, flipping up her top lip and sticking out her tongue to reveal two shiny, inflamed canker sores. Throughout the day she’s been reapplying some kind of numbing cream to them.

Just to be safe, all heavy but liftable objects have been removed from the courtyard. The stones bordering the pond are actually cemented in place, and the benches are bolted down as well. Oliver’s chair is tied with rope to one of the benches to keep it from taking flight when he stands up.

He has his bag and wand at the ready, and the buggy is standing by, tied securely to another bench. They’re chatting and playing quiet games because Phyl doesn’t think the ghost wants attention. She thinks maybe it just wants people to go away and leave it alone. If they stay still and don’t act like they’re there to trouble it, it may tolerate them longer. Other than a few loud laughs and claps, they’ve all managed to keep fairly chill.

“It’s kind of sad,” Oliver says, looking around at the picturesque scenery, “It would be nice if the ghost could just stay here.”

“We’ll take it somewhere even better,” says Phyl.

Dan looks at her, taking in the flowing curve of her face in profile, and the way the moonlight and the glow from the tall lanterns around them brings out the blue undertones in her hair. They look next at Oliver, who’s turned around in his chair to face the pond. They can’t see his expression, but they’re sure he’s concentrating carefully, eager to witness whatever comes next, not wanting to miss a thing.

“You know, I used to ask my brother why the moon is round,” Phyl says.

“Why  _ wouldn’t _ the moon be round?” asks Dan.

“I don’t know. I don’t remember why I asked.”

“Well, what did he tell you?”

She laughs. “He probably told me to shut up. I usually asked questions like that when he was trying to sleep. I think he was relieved when I stopped wanting to sleep in his room.”

“Remember that huge moon mirror I showed you online? We should get that.”

“Are you serious? The price on that was ridiculous. No way.”

“Fine, I’ll save up for it myself and never let you use it. You’ll never learn the secrets of the moon.”

“Hey,” Oliver says. “Look.”

He points at the pond. In the center, bubbles have begun to appear. They start small and then increase, spreading outward. Soon enough the entire surface of the pond is rolling and bubbling as if the water is boiling.

None of them move. Dan grips the edge of the bench. Oliver’s fist tightens around the wand.

Then the water calms suddenly. No lingering bubbles or ripples, just a surface smooth as glass. The reflection of the gibbous moon seems even brighter than before.

“Okay,” says Phyl, “That was—”

Wind whips through the courtyard. The water in the pond begins to spin in a whirlpool, the numerous wishing coins from the bottom shooting up out of it. Leaves and hair fly, and even the stone at the end of Oliver’s wand lifts and bobs in the air for a moment, like a little balloon. 

And then it ends just as swiftly, leaving them ruffled but unharmed.

“It doesn’t seem angry, right?” says Oliver, looking to Phyl for confirmation of his assessment.

“No,” she says. “More…excited. Be ready.”

Oliver nods, holding tight to the wand and bag. Dan keeps their eyes on Phyl, determined to make sure she doesn’t do anything stupid. But she hasn’t put up any resistance to the idea of Oliver catching the ghost since they read Ruby’s email, and she’s been focused but relaxed all evening. She seems much more at peace with the arrangement than when they first tried it at the café, and Dan is grateful for that development.

“Should I stand up? Get closer?”

“The wind could pick up even stronger again and knock you off your feet,” warns Dan. Phyl doesn’t say anything to contradict them, so Dan knows she agrees.

They wait quietly for at least ten minutes, but nothing happens. Just a gentle breeze that might be caused by the natural weather if not the ghost.

“It sounds like wind chimes,” says Oliver, breaking the silence.

“I hear a flute,” says Phyl.

Dan is once again envious of their ability, but thankfully they won’t have to hear the distress call this time. At least they assume they won’t, since Oliver is catching it. But they don’t know  _ why _ that makes a difference. _ I don’t think it’s coming from the ghosts your girlfriend is catching _ , Ruby had written. Dan is anxious to know what that means. In further correspondence, they’d made plans to sit down and talk later that week.

Out of the center of the pond, a spurt of water jets up into the air. Unlike a fountain, the water doesn’t curve down back toward the surface at the top, but simply stays pointed straight up in a liquid spear. As it stretches higher, the water level in the pond drops dramatically. The wind picks up some, but stays confined to the borders of the pond, spiraling and climbing up around the water.

Oliver and Phyl stand up, faces set in clear understanding. Dan joins them. This is it.

The water drops back into the pond like it's been yanked down by something below the surface. A great splash showers the bordering stones and ground, and the water settles sloppily, no longer perfectly contained in its basin.

Oliver quickly passes the bag to Dan and Phyl. They each hold one handle, stretching it open like a net between them. That was Dan’s idea, that they should hold it together. This way Phyl is a part of it, even if not in the way she’s used to. It gives her something to do with her hands, too. And Dan is right beside her, anchored to the same device.

Oliver raises the wand. The stone sways back and forth between him and the pond. Then Dan hears the whistling of the wind and Phyl’s grip on her side of the bag tightens, pulling it taut against Dan’s. The ghost flies at them in the form of a powerful gust, and Oliver draws the wand closer to the bag, willing it to follow.

It does, straight into the bag, and Dan enjoys a second of giddy elation as they prepare to snap the bag closed and turn toward the open, waiting mouth of the buggy. Then the bottom of the bag bursts with such force it wrenches it from their grip and knocks them off their feet.

Dan sees the bag fly away on the wind, and feels Phyl hit the ground beside them. Oliver is shouting something. They don’t see her rise to her knees and lift up her hands until it’s too late.

The wind dies when Phyl swallows the ghost, standing fluidly and turning to the buggy. Dan scrambles to their feet.

“Phyl!” They reach out to grab her, but their fingers only brush the back of her elbow before they stumble again. The power of the ghost has left them dizzy and breathless.

Dan clamps their hands over their ears as the distress call assaults. It hurts worse than ever, sounding long and so high they can feel it shooting down their spine, sending spikes of pain out to every part of them along the way. They scream.

Then it’s over, and they open their teary eyes, shaking as they try to catch their breath.

“ _ Fuck _ ,” says Oliver, and Dan becomes aware of him crouching beside them.

Phyl is on her knees before the closed buggy, hair hanging down to block the view of her face. Dan opens their mouth, but isn’t able to speak yet, or move. Their ears ring, their skull aches, and their heart clenches.

Phyl falls forward onto her hands and heaves, splattering blood on the ground. She looks up and makes eye contact with Dan for a fleeting moment, and then her eyelids flutter and she collapses onto her side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry. i promise everything will be alright, and i'll try not to leave you hanging from this cliff for too long. 
> 
> thanks for reading!
> 
> [ reblog on tumblr ](https://velvetnautilus.tumblr.com/private/626000911826927617/tumblr_X2dv0Ksg41mhD61WA)


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this would have been up sooner but unfortunately all month i've had very limited access to wifi, so sorry for the delay. i don't know how hospitals work in the u.k. and i didn't try to find out. uh...enjoy?

Oliver calls for an ambulance, kneeling with Dan beside Phyl, answering questions in a clear voice. Then he runs to the hotel, where a handful of night staff are stationed.

Dan just sits by Phyl, dazed and useless. Phyl’s lips are smeared with red, and strands of black hair meander across her sweaty forehead. She looks paler than usual, if that’s possible. But her breathing is even and her pulse steady. Her brow furrows for a moment and then smooths out again. Dan is afraid to touch her, or even speak.

They know this is real, that it’s happening. And they’re scared. But it also feels like one of their nightmares, and as in many a nightmare, they don’t have full control of themself. Their body is slow and detached. And the same thought repeats over and over.

_Phyl is hurt._  
  
Dan squeezes their eyes shut, then opens them quickly to make sure Phyl is still there, still the same. Oliver returns with some of the staff, and they can hear them speaking, but everything is muffled. They wonder vaguely if the intensity of the distress call damaged their hearing, but they think it’s more likely caused by whatever state of mind this is.  
  
There’s a hand on their shoulder, and someone asks, “Are you okay?”  
  
Dan nods, because it would be selfish to do otherwise. Phyl is the one who’s not okay.  
  
The voice speaks again, and this time Dan can tell it’s Oliver. “The ambulance is close.”  
  
Dan just nods again. They don’t know why they can’t speak. Dan has experienced panic before, but this is different. Slower.  
  
The sound of approaching sirens shakes them out of their stupor enough to stand up and back away from Phyl so she can be tended to.  
  
Phyl gains consciousness long enough to sit up, blinking and wincing while she’s examined. Dan clasps their hands together so hard their joints pop. Then Phyl is eased onto a stretcher and loaded into the ambulance. Dan moves closer.  
  
They won’t let Dan ride in the ambulance. Someone speaks to Dan in words that swim and slur when they reach their ears, and they’re just barely able to translate that the person is telling them the address of the hospital so they can follow in their own vehicle. Then the doors are snapping shut. The tires spin, the siren wails.  
  
A more familiar panic edges its way up Dan’s throat as the ambulance disappears around the front of the building and down the street. They need to follow her, but they’re in no state to be driving right now.  
  
“Wait,” they croak, too late, taking a few clumsy steps forward. The heavy atmosphere shatters like glass around them. The air is cold, their heart races, and Phyl is gone.  
  
“Here,” a voice says from behind Dan. “Come with me, I’ll drive you.” They turn and see one of the security staff, a man named Harold they spoke with upon arriving. He strides in the direction of the parking lot, beckoning them to follow.  
  
As they start walking, Dan remembers Oliver, and looks back. He’s coming toward them.  
  
“I’ll stay and take care of things here,” he says with a reassuring smile, shoving Phyl’s backpack into Dan’s hands. “Go.”  
  
“…Okay.” They don’t look back again.  
  
  
Dan stands in front of the nurses’ station.  
  
“All I can tell you right now,” the nurse says patiently, “is that Phyllis is being examined and having some tests done. When the doctors are all done with her, I’ll make sure you know.”  
  
“Fine.” Dan stalks back to the same chair they’ve been waiting in for two hours now, when they’re not pacing the room or bothering one of the nurses. All Dan knows is that Phyl’s condition (whatever it is) is stable. She hasn’t been to intensive care or surgery.  
  
“Are you hungry, love?” the nurse calls. “The cafeteria is closed, but we can get you something.“  
  
“No, thank you.” Dan’s stomach is empty, but the idea of eating makes them sick. They keep picturing blood dripping from Phyl’s mouth.  
  
Dan stops looking at their phone or the clock on the wall. Maybe it’s better to not know how much time is passing. They pick up a celebrity magazine and stare at two completely unfamiliar faces on the cover. Dan isn’t out of step with pop culture by any means, but they have no idea who they’re looking at. It’s unnerving. They put the magazine back down.  
  
Since they’re ignoring concrete numbers, the only indication Dan gets that time is progressing is a shift change. The nurse who offered Dan food rises to greet the newcomer, nodding in Dan’s direction while saying something inaudible. Dan looks around and realizes they’re the only person waiting in this particular area. They wonder when that happened.  
  
The urge to sleep is just starting to hit when a woman in a white coat comes down the hall. It has to be the doctor.  
  
“Dan?” she says.  
  
Dan nods, standing up already, heart hammering.  
  
The doctor smiles. “There’s someone waiting to see you.”  
  
  
All the tightly wound tension in Dan’s body melts when they walk into the room and see Phyl. They could collapse right onto the floor, but they hold themself together. Phyl is sitting up in bed, and her face splits into a big grin at the sight of Dan. She’s in a hospital gown with an IV, but she looks fine.  
  
“Visiting hours are long over,” says the doctor. “But I’ll give you fifteen minutes.” She leaves the room, pulling the door just shy of closed behind her.  
  
Dan sinks into the chair beside the bed.  
  
“Hey.”  
  
“I’m sorry I scared you,” says Phyl, looking truly remorseful. “I’m really sorry.”  
  
“Why are you apologizing?” Dan laughs. They’re a little lightheaded. “Well, just don’t do it again, stupid.”  
  
Phyl smiles and leans back into the pillow, closing her eyes.  
  
“Are you…okay?” Dan asks. “What happened?”  
  
She sits back up and opens her eyes. “I have a stomach ulcer.”  
  
_Since when?_ Dan thinks. Do those just appear out of nowhere?  
  
“And a minor upper respiratory tract infection. And I fainted, obviously.”  
  
“Uh huh,” says Dan, looking her up and down, as if other injuries might be concealed beneath the hospital blanket. They wish they could demand to see her medical chart or something. “What did you tell them we were doing when it happened?” They’re pretty sure ghost hunting didn’t come up in the conversation.  
  
“Apparently Oliver told them we were _dancing_,” says Phyl, snickering.  
  
“Oh, of course,” says Dan, laughing. They wonder if the implication is that Phyl vomited and passed out from dancing so hard, or from dancing so _badly._  
  
“Anyway, they’re keeping me overnight just in case, but I should be able to come home tomorrow. The doctor said they want to be cautious because of my whole random fainting thing, and they found out about the seizure I had in my early twenties. But that happened before I even absorbed the ghost.”  
  
Dan doesn’t speak, just thinks. Ruby warned them. Phyl wasn’t supposed to absorb any more ghosts, and it probably could’ve been so much worse. It was bad enough. She should never have been in that situation in the first place.  
  
“I didn’t mean to do it,” Phyl says, dragging Dan back into the moment. “The ghost. I didn’t—I wasn’t trying to.”  
  
The pitch of her voice is fairly steady, but her hands shake in her lap. Dan covers one with their own.  
  
“It’s okay,” they say. “It’ll be okay.”  
  
They’re going to figure this out together. They’re going to talk to Ruby and handle it. Whatever the problem is, they’ll fix it, and Phyl won’t get hurt again. Dan squeezes her hand.  
  
The doctor returns to tell them their time is up. Dan needs to leave so Phyl can sleep. Dan should get some sleep, too. Harold is long gone; they’ll have to call for a ride…then they remember that Oliver must still be back at the hotel, with the van and the ghost trapped in the buggy. They haven’t given him any updates on Phyl.  
  
Dan gives Phyl a kiss before they reluctantly leave. “I’ll be back in the morning.”  
  
  
They text Oliver as soon as they’re out in the hall.  
  
_phyl is ok. coming back to the hotel now sorry for being gone so long_  
  
The reply comes right away. He must have been anxiously awaiting a message.  
  
_GOOD!!!!!! Hotel is giving us rooms tonight (FREE). See you soon._  
  
Dan closes eyes that are suddenly burning with tears. They wish they were already back in the hotel room, alone. Of course, the nurse calling them a taxi doesn’t bat an eye as the tears start streaming down Dan’s face.  
  
Phyl is okay. Everything is okay. For now. Dan just needs to make sure it stays that way. Their grip tightens on their phone, and they stumble a bit as they walk. They’ll do whatever they have to, whatever Ruby says. But first, sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! and extra thanks for the comments on the last chapter, as usual. hopefully i get my internet situation sorted out soon and the next chapter will come quicker.
> 
> [ reblog on tumblr ](https://velvetnautilus.tumblr.com/private/627464054516154368/tumblr_zyxRhZi1ag4lMhD1A)


	24. Chapter 24

“I fainted at a zoo once,” says Oliver, stretching his legs out across the floor. “Right in front of the giraffes.”

Dan’s legs are long enough to hit the other wall of the narrow utility room the two of them are sitting in. Their shoes squeak against it when they stretch.  
  
“How did the giraffes feel about that?”  
  
“I don’t know. Next thing I knew I was on a cot with a man that looked like a walrus glaring at me.” He rubs a finger above his top lip. “Big mustache.”  
  
Dan looks over at the buggy. It’s inside the room with them, up against the closed door. The client had warned them that sometimes the ghost liked to slam the door shut and lock it. A family member had gotten trapped in there for over an hour. So they didn’t want to risk leaving it outside. It feels unnatural to be so near to it in an enclosed space. It’s also unnatural to be on a case without Phyl.  
  
When she and Dan had gotten home from the hospital earlier, Phyl had lamented the fact that they’d have to cancel the job they had planned for that night.  
  
“No,” said Dan, inspiration striking. “Me and Oliver can do it. You’ll stay home and rest, and we’ll handle it.”  
  
Phyl gave them a skeptical look. “But how? Oliver’s bag broke and you can’t…”  
  
“The wand still works,” Dan continued, gaining confidence in their idea as they spoke, “We’ll just lead the ghost directly into the buggy.”  
  
“I don’t know,” said Phyl.  
  
“It’ll be _fine_.”  
  
Of course, Dan hadn’t consulted with Oliver about this at all, so they shot him a text, and after a somewhat troubling fifteen minutes without a reply, he enthusiastically agreed.  
  
Now Dan misses Phyl. They miss her reassuring presence and her confidence in her abilities. It’s not that Oliver is incompetent; he’s just inexperienced. He’s only caught two ghosts before (and one got away), and now he’s working with only half his tools. Dan watches him fidget nervously, fingers drumming on the wand lying on the floor by his side. He bites his lip and looks around the room as if waiting for something to appear.  
  
The single bare bulb in the ceiling doesn’t cast enough light to reach every corner of the room, as small as it is. The tools and supplies that take up the back end of it morph into looming mechanical beasts. Light gleams off bits of metal here and there like eyes watching them.  
  
Oliver didn’t like the sounds he was hearing either. He said it was like groaning, or maybe snoring. Besides the door-locking, their client informed them that the ghost liked to send the objects in the room crashing and tumbling to the floor, and that sometimes the dog would stand outside and bark.  
  
Dan wishes the dog were here with them. They haven’t even gotten to meet it, instead being informed when they arrived that it was upstairs sleeping and “wouldn’t get in the way.” They almost protested, wanting to argue that the dog would actually be an asset. It would be comforting, and its apparent ghost sensing abilities couldn’t hurt, right? But they held back and remained professional. They were here to capture a ghost, not play with a dog. And they could already tell the client was a little put-off by Phyl’s absence, since she’d led the correspondence.

“So when are you talking to Ruby?” Oliver asks. Dan has caught him up with recent events.

“Tomorrow. Early morning for us, middle of the night for her. I emailed this morning with an update on what just happened with Phyl, and she said we needed to talk ASAP. I guess she’s had a lot going on but made time.”

She’d also written, _She was lucky nothing worse happened. Don’t let her anywhere near another ghost. Can you do that? It’s just one more day._

Dan couldn’t determine the exact intended tone of the message, but regardless it made them feel guilty. Mostly guilty for taking that case with Phyl when they both knew she needed to put some distance between her and the ghosts, but also for being here today. Even though Phyl is safe at home, far from any paranormal forces, Dan feels like they’re doing something wrong. Like they haven’t technically broken a rule, but they’re bending it pretty far. Everything remains uncertain.

Tomorrow’s discussion can’t come quick enough.

Dan hears a creak and a click, and turns to face the door.

“Did it just lock?” Oliver whispers.

“Go check.”

He gets to his feet carefully, wand in hand, and creeps across the short distance. He stands unmoving, outreached hand hovering before the door. An unbearable stillness hangs in the air. Dan doesn’t know what Oliver is hearing, but for them there’s nothing.

“Go on,” Dan says, and Oliver’s shoulders jump a bit, but he extends his arm fully and reaches around the open lid of the buggy to clasp the doorknob.

Dan can’t see it from where they’re sitting, but they can tell from the motion of Oliver’s arm that it isn’t twisting in his hand. 

“Locked,” he confirms.

“Great,” says Dan. Their eyes dart to the single window in the room. It’s obscured by precariously stacked boxes and paint cans, and a crooked shelving unit, but they can tell it’s too small for either of them to fit through.

They pull out their cell phone. No service. They were warned about that, too. Oliver sits back down and checks his. Dan watches his face and sees the answer.

“Alright?” they ask. Personally, the locked door hasn’t freaked them out because they expected it to happen at some point. They wish they could still use their phone, but that too is bearable. 

Except...there’s something about the door locking so quietly, while already closed, that bothers them more than the idea of it slamming shut. Something calculating and calmly menacing. The room suddenly seems even smaller.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” says Oliver. He sits down next to Dan instead of on the opposite wall, and it's a good thing because his voice is so quiet now. “But, it feels like...like it’s woken up.”

“The ghost?”

“I guess. Its presence is just so much stronger. Like it’s sitting here right in front of us.” He stares at the empty wall across from them.

Now Dan is on edge. Their eyes seek out strange stains and shadows on the flat paint of the wall. Tricks of the light. They strain to hear something, maybe not what Oliver hears, but_ something._

All their ears receive is the two of them breathing. They regard the door and have an unexpected thought. _Stay locked._ Why? Oliver said he felt like the ghost was right there with them, but Dan is afraid of something else. There are two reasons to lock a door, after all—to keep something from getting out, and to keep something from getting in.

“Do you think there could be two of them?” they say. “Two distinct ghosts. One here and one…” Dan knows that ghosts in close proximity are usually driven to join together and become one entity. But not always.

Oliver’s eyes widen. “I think you’re right. Wow.” He looks excited, but then his face falls. “But how can we catch them if there’s two? How can I lure them both into the buggy together?” He turns to Dan, his gaze repeating the questions they can’t answer.

They really wish Phyl was here. She’d know what to do. But she’s not, and Dan can’t contact her. So they just have to think. They can do this. 

Dan has spent countless hours on Beyond the Veil, soaking up as much knowledge as possible. That’s where they first read about what one user described as ghosts in conflict—when two or more spirits haunting the same place have an adversarial relationship. Sometimes one ghost will drive off the other, or they’ll eventually join together. But other times they’ll both continue to exist in the same place, anchored in their hostility.

Capturing the ghosts separately is an option. But not for Happy Phantoms because they only have one buggy to hold them in. Unless they come back another night. Catch one ghost today, leave the other for later....but no. They should finish this tonight. That’s what they’ve been hired to do. And Dan doesn’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow after they talk to Ruby. How things might change for all of them.

What else was there? Dan concentrates harder, tries to remember. _Make a chain._ That’s right. Lure one ghost while the other chases it. But would that work? Would the ghosts behave the way they wanted them to? And would they be able to do it fast enough to catch and keep both of them?

If you had the right tools and methods, you could also try catching them simultaneously, leading them side by side, but that sounds more challenging to Dan.

The sound of someone pounding wildly on the door snaps Dan out of their thoughts.

“Fucking...fuck,” they say, as Oliver gasps beside them.

The knocking continues. The doorknob shakes but doesn’t turn. And then just when Dan starts to think whatever is out there is going to break the door down, it stops.

Oliver and Dan sit silent, still. It may be Dan's imagination, but it seems the lightbulb has dimmed.

“Okay,” Dan says eventually, “I don’t suppose that was just somebody coming to check on us.” The words catch on their dry tongue and come out weak.

Oliver looks back and forth between the door and the opposite end of the room. “What do we do?”

Dan’s first instinct is to say hide, as if there’s a place for that or a purpose to it. 

“The ghost out there wants to get to the ghost in here, right?” they say. “But the ghost in here wants that one to stay away.”

“Yes? I’m not Phyl. I can't feel it as well as she does it. But I think so.”

Dan asks Oliver if he’s familiar with the concepts they’ve remembered from BTV, and he is.

“Alright. Let’s move the buggy,” they say.

Dan pulls the buggy away from the door and together they awkwardly turn it around in the cramped space. They push it as far back into the room as they can.

“Now what?” asks Oliver.

Dan thinks, looking at the door. With newfound boldness, they stride toward it and reach for the knob. Oliver makes a concerned sound behind them as they try to twist it.

“Still locked.” They turn around. “What’s the mood?”

“Uh, I think the ghost in here has calmed down some, since the knocking stopped. Still uneasy though. The one outside seems...frustrated?” He furrows his brow and looks up, searching for the words. He frowns. “Or maybe that’s just how I'm biased to believe they feel. Maybe it isn’t that at all.”

“Either way we need to open this door.”

“Yes,” Oliver says somewhat reluctantly. “But how?”

Dan approaches the back of the room and takes out their phone to shine a light on the clutter there.

“We could unearth some tools to take it off the hinges,” they say.

“Isn’t that a bit much?”

Dan picks up a hammer. The head is rusty and the wooden handle has begun to split beneath it. “How about we just bash the knob off,” they say, swinging it back and forth.

Oliver laughs half-heartedly before returning to the floor, and Dan puts the hammer down. They nudge his foot with theirs when they sit across from him.

“Cheer up, mate. You’re ghost hunting. Living the dream.”

He picks up the wand and lays it on his lap, rolling it back and forth. “Sorry. It's just a lot of pressure. I don’t want to mess up. Last time I caught a ghost my bag broke, and Phyl was—I don’t want anything else to go wrong.” 

Dan can hear the guilt thickening his words, and realizes he must feel at least partly responsible for what happened. Just like Dan does.

“Nothing could go as wrong as last time,” they say softly. 

They sit in silence again. Dan wonders what Phyl is up to. She'd better be resting and not eating anything she isn’t supposed to. She was very ornery when they got home and Dan reminded her she couldn't drink coffee while she was healing. They threatened to hide all the instant powder.

“You suck at hiding things,” she grumbled. Dan recalled the numerous times Phyl had located sweets they tried to conceal. She has an uncanny knack for it.

“Perhaps I’ll just chuck it in the bin,” they mused, patting her on the shoulder as they passed behind her.. “Take your meds, and I’ll make you some eggs.”

“The ghosts are quiet,” says Oliver. 

Dan is about to chime in with a _Too quiet_, when an onslaught of sound causes them to shriek instead.

Outside the door, a dog has begun barking its head off—loud, frantic, nerve-shredding barks that make both of them cover their ears.

There’s a short reprieve, in which the dog must be catching its breath, and then the noise resumes. But in that short span of time, Dan hears something else. The faintest click.

“I think the door unlocked,” they say, half-shouting to be heard.

“What?”

The barking stops again.

“The door,” they repeat. I think I heard it unlock.”

The dog remains silent. Oliver stands and faces the door with determination. The stone at the end of his wand spins in a lazy circle.

“I think you should open the door,” he says glancing quickly between it and the buggy behind him. He steps slightly to the side to create a clearer path, extending the wand into the space he’s vacated. “Please.”

Dan wants to ask him how he knows it’s time, but they think better of it. If it was Phyl, they would just trust. 

So they go to the door and wrap their hand around the doorknob. The metal is warm as if someone was holding it before them. Dan’s not sure what to expect when the door opens. Will the dog come charging inside along with the ghost? That might cause a problem, especially if it’s a big dog. They can picture Oliver getting knocked over, wand snapping as the spirits tussle invisibly in the air above. But the dog isn’t barking anymore.

“On three?” they ask.

“Sounds good.”

Dan flexes their fingers and tightens their grip. They lock eyes with Oliver and nod.

“One…” he begins, “two...three!”

There’s a moment of anticlimax when Dan turns the knob in the wrong direction before pulling it, causing the door to remain shut, but then they get it right and throw it open.

No dog comes barrelling in. In fact, there’s no dog in sight. A gust of warm air blows past Dan, ruffling their hair. They turn in time to see the stone of Oliver's wand swaying wildly back and forth while he stands his ground. Another gust of air hits them in the face and their eyes close involuntarily.

“Shut the door!” yells Oliver.

Dan steps out and fumbles for the doorknob. They pull and the door slams shut. They whip their head around to see Oliver slapping the lid of the buggy down. The string and stone are caught inside, and when he yanks the wand back it snaps near the tip. The stone hits the metal bottom of the buggy’s box with a bang.

“My _wand_,” Oliver cries. “But I did it! But my wand…” He looks down at the stick in his hands.

Dan pushes their hair off their forehead, then crosses the floor. “Did you get them both?” they ask.

“Yes, but I broke it...” he holds up the stick for Dan to see.

“That’s incredible,” they say. Oliver’s frown deepens. “No, not the wand breaking. The ghosts. You just caught _two_ separate ghosts, all on your own.”

Oliver smiles bashfully, still holding the broken wand like a wounded creature. “Not all on my own,” he says.

Dan’s phone buzzes in their pocket. They hastily pull it out and see they have eight texts from Phyl sent throughout the evening.

The most recent reads, _I assume ghosty business is keeping u from replying. or ur phone died. I’m suddenly craving orange juice? don’t worry we don’t have any_

Dan grins as they type. 

_mission accomplished! back away from the citrus_

  
Their client shakes Dan and Oliver's hands enthusiastically when they go to meet him, going from one to the other and then back again till Dan's had at least three handshakes.

“God bless you,” he says.

“Your dog kind of scared the shit out of me,” Dan says, wincing after the swear. They never realized how far Phyl's presence went to help them censor themself with clients. It was like she sent out anti-swear beams. “Where are they anyway?”

The man gives Dan a quizzical look. “Gertrude? She’s asleep upstairs. She’s been in her bed by my desk since you arrived.”

Dan and Oliver look at each other with raised brows. The revelation is at once eerie and comical, and the two feelings battle for supremacy.

“I guess it was just ghosty business,” says Dan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading!
> 
> [ reblog on tumblr ](https://velvetnautilus.tumblr.com/private/628517689699303424/tumblr_bUuZ00w4q3ze1sVIK)


	25. Chapter 25

“Now that we have introductions out of the way, how are you?”

Ruby is looking at Phyl with an intensity that seems to cross thousands of miles and an ocean with ease, seeing through the screen and right inside her.  
  
She’s a middle-aged woman with graying hair and huge, round-framed glasses. When she reaches up to adjust them, a stack of silver bangles slides up and down her arm. Dan can’t place her accent—it’s some flavor of American, but with something else mixed in.  
  
“I’m okay,” says Phyl. “A little pain still and…and a headache, as usual.”  
  
The wall behind Ruby is covered in pictures and posters, all obscured by inadequate lighting and the mediocre resolution of her webcam. The one decoration Dan can discern with clarity is a large trans flag, its pastel stripes popping amidst the vague, dark rectangles framing it. The sight of it brings Dan a measure of comfort. Logical or not, it’s a connection between them, a spark that ignites a feeling of trust.  
  
“That’s to be expected,” says Ruby. She raises both hands, steepling her fingers, and Dan sees that her other arm is similarly adorned. “There’s no use delaying this discussion any further. Have you ever heard of _habitation?_”  
  
“No,” Dan and Phyl say in unison. Of course, Dan is familiar with the word and its standard definition, but clearly that’s not what Ruby means.  
  
“Some people also call it occupation, or other names. These things aren’t official, and we...” She frowns. “We bury these things in too much mystery. Pointless, dangerous obscurity. It’s no wonder you haven’t heard of it.”  
  
Dan almost interrupts to ask _what_ it is. Their concern for Phyl breeds impatience. But before they can get the first syllable out, Ruby sighs and continues.  
  
“Habitation is when a ghost latches on inside a person and makes a home there. In this case, that person is you, Phyl.”  
  
A series of puzzle pieces, previously in such disarray that they were unrecognizable as such, suddenly settle and lock together in Dan’s mind. Dreams, screams, and gut feelings paint a startling picture. _Why didn’t I see it sooner?_ The thought overlaps with _How the hell could I have known?_  
  
“It’s actually not too uncommon, but your case is rather unique. I've yet to encounter anyone else who’s housed a ghost for more than a year, but if everything you wrote for me in your history is accurate, you’ve been doing it for almost two decades.”  
  
Dan tears their gaze away from Ruby for the first time to look at Phyl. Her eyes are locked on Ruby, but Dan's not sure she’s seeing clearly. She’s still as a statue, lips slightly parted. Dan’s hand creeps across the small space of sofa separating them. They find Phyl’s hand and slip their fingers between hers. Phyl inhales sharply, as if she’d forgotten to breathe.  
  
“You said you were ten or eleven,” Ruby says calmly. “When everything changed? And there was a bright, overwhelming light, painful heat, and beautiful singing.”  
  
Phyl must not have remembered that when Dan first asked about her past. Unless she lied? No. They’re positive she didn’t. Phyl had no reason to lie about those details, and clearly she had no idea what had actually happened.  
  
“So…” Dan clears their throat. “Is it, like, some kind of possession?” Phyl’s limp hand tenses.  
  
“No. Possession, as a concept, implies a level of control over the host that just isn’t present here.” Her eyes shift from Dan back to Phyl. “Though, as I’ve said, the ghost has been inside you for longer than I thought possible, so I can’t say everything with certainty. On a subconscious level, the ghost’s presence may be influencing some of your actions. Like your inability to follow the instruction to not absorb any more ghosts.”  
  
“It’s not her fault,” Dan snaps. “She didn’t do it on purpose.”  
  
“None of this is anyone’s fault,” Ruby replies evenly, not matching Dan's aggressive tone. “It’s just unfortunate.”  
  
Phyl lowers a hand to her stomach. “Did it do this to me?” she asks quietly.  
  
Her hand is out of view of the webcam, but Ruby knows exactly what she’s talking about. “Yes. And then some, I’m sure. You’ve implied you have chronic headaches. Are you sick a lot? Illnesses, injuries, mental fog…these all accompany habitation. Carrying a ghost like that—long term—it destroys you from the inside. I’m actually amazed you’re in as good health as you appear to be. I’d expect you to be dead by now. I’ve seen it happen.” Her mouth forms a tight line, and she looks down.  
  
Dan’s heart races. They feel nauseated, and a thousand questions swim inside their head. They ask the most important one.  
  
“How do we get it out?” Because they have to. The sooner they remove this ghost, the better.  
  
“We extract it. But it’s not easy. Let me explain a little more. Phyl, your case is special for another reason. You’ve been housing this ghost since you were a child, but you’ve also been absorbing other ghosts. And there are two things a ghost craves—to join with other ghosts, and to find a home. Every time you introduce a new ghost and then expel it, the ghost inside you is torn between the desire to remain where it is and the longing to join the newcomer. That level of distress produces a volatile energy. It’s incredibly dangerous for you, Phyl,” she turns her attention to Dan, “and for others around you.”  
  
Dan feels the phantom sting of burnt skin. They slide their hand away from Phyl's, still keeping it close. She doesn’t seem to notice.

“But it’s fortunate you met someone able to hear the distress call of your ghost so clearly. Dan’s aptitude may have just saved your life.”

Dan has to look away from both of them, blushing and bashful. Statements like that are too big for their heart to handle. Knowledge like that is overwhelming. It traps them between pride and pressure. 

“You also happen to be talking to an expert in extracting ghosts from humans. All things considered, I’d say you’ve got luck on your side.”

“But can you help me when you’re so far away?” Phyl asks in a small voice. Dan straightens up.

Ruby looks off to the side, chin resting on clasped hands. She frowns.

“Let’s see…” She sighs. “Finances are a little tight right now, but if you two can afford to fly me over, I can come perform the extraction for you.”

“We can,” Dan says quickly. “How soon can you come?”

Ruby smiles at them with an almost sad sort of warmth Dan might expect to see on the face of someone watching a heartfelt, sentimental film. Dan thinks it’s specifically a smile for _them_, not Phyl.

“Give me two days,” she says.

Next Ruby goes over some of the preparations they’ll need to make for the extraction. It’s a very particular ritual. (Dan keeps wanting to refer to it as an exorcism, but they think the others might object to that.) They listen to her explanation with fierce concentration, leaning forward with muscles tensed. 

“I’ll send you an email detailing all of this once we’ve finished talking, so you can refer back to it. Let me give you my phone number, too.”

Dan and Phyl diligently add Ruby to their contacts. Dan doesn’t want the conversation to end. They have so many more questions. But Ruby has a life to live beyond just helping them, and they have to let her go. Dan wonders how often she does this. Is it a regular job for her? If so, how much does she usually get paid, and how much should they pay her?

“Stay safe and be smart,” she says, before disconnecting. The screen goes dark.

Phyl pulls her feet up onto the sofa and hugs her knees.

“My whole life. Nearly,” she mumbles.

“What?”

“I’ve had this inside me. Just _there._” She lowers her knees and runs her hands over her chest and stomach. “But where? _Where_ is it?” Her voice squeaks and she looks at Dan with frantic eyes.

Dan puts an arm around her shoulders and pulls her close. They don’t know what to say so they don’t say anything. The rigid tension in Phyl’s body eases. They sit like that for a while. Just Dan holding Phyl on their sofa in their home.

Then Phyl’s stomach growls and Dan snickers. “Hungry?” they ask.

Phyl scowls and pokes them in the cheek. “Yes. I’m eating for t—” She stops before she finishes the joke, shaking her head like she’s offended herself.

Dan retracts their arm and stands up. They hold out their hands to pull Phyl to her feet, and when they’re face to face they kiss her forehead. 

“Oh? Okay,” Phyl says quietly, apparently surprised by the gesture. For a moment she looks so cute Dan wants to scream and squeeze the life out of her. In a loving way. Instead they drag her to the kitchen and make her breakfast.

  
They receive an email from Ruby, as promised, and after they finish eating they read it together.

The extraction requires ten people. Ruby, Dan, and Phyl count as three, so they need to recruit seven more. They have to be people who know Phyl and care about her (on a deep, personal level). And in Ruby’s words, they also have to be “already in the know about ghosts because we don’t have time to catch anyone up and get them to a level of acceptance. And I don’t have the energy for it.”

Excluding Phyl, each of the participants needs to bring a token—an object that holds value to them in connection to their relationship with her. Phyl will be providing a “very small amount of blood.” In response to their troubled faces, Ruby added, “Taken in the most sanitary and least harmful way possible, I promise.”

They brainstorm who to ask. Oliver is an obvious choice. They’re both sure he’ll say yes to any kind of ghost adventure.

“And he practically idolizes you,” Dan says. “When we were on that case together he told me he wants to be you when he grows up, and I think he was only half-joking.” Dan had almost made a comment about him already being grown up, but then recalled what they were like at eighteen and changed their mind.

AJ and Gwen seem like solid choices as well, but there’s a little uncertainty. AJ has never interacted with ghosts, and Gwen didn’t come away from her experience wanting more. But it won’t hurt to ask them, and Dan is confident they’ll want to help. They love Phyl.

“I’ll ask Pru,” says Phyl. “She’ll absolutely say yes. She's really the ‘help you bury a body’ or ‘break you out of prison’ type, if you know what I mean.”

“Great, that’s four. We need three more.”

Phyl bites her nail. “I think...Anja should be there. She’s also over in America, though. And probably busy...but I want her to be there.”

Dan knows about Anja. She’s Phyl's childhood friend who founded Happy Phantoms with her. She and Phyl still talk, but they sometimes go long stretches in between conversations. Dan takes note of the way Phyl says _should_ and _want_ rather than just suggesting she’s a candidate.

“Then we’ll make sure she’s here,” Dan says. They can buy her a plane ticket, too. Even if that’s a stretch right now. They’ll make it work. No expense spared for this.

“Two,” says Phyl.

“Two,” Dan echoes. They stare into space, pondering. Two more people who care about Phyl and have the requisite ghost knowledge.

“I should have told more people about ghosts when I had the chance,” says Phyl.

“Yeah,” says Dan, and then a bright idea strikes. A bright, incredibly obvious idea.

“I know who,” they say, grabbing their phone, “and I'll ask right now.”

“Huh? Who?”

_i need your help with something_, they type. Then they pause just as they’re about to send it and rewrite the text.

_phyl needs your help with something_

That’s better. They send it off to Michael.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! were you surprised or did you see this coming? also fun fact, i recently (as in today) discovered an old document of mine from 2011 that detailed plans for a story about a girl who joins a ghost hunting team after they discover she gets sick around ghosts which makes it easier to detect them. also there may be a ghost or other supernatural being inside her. hmm sounds familiar.
> 
> [ reblog on tumblr ](https://velvetnautilus.tumblr.com/private/629160823998316544/tumblr_mGAb9TbJwjFM7MISR)


	26. Chapter 26

_Is there a dress code?_

Of course Oliver would ask if the ghost extraction ritual has a dress code. He’s already asked about a hundred other questions.

_yeah it’s white tie_

“Be nice to him,” Phyl admonishes, reading over Dan’s shoulder. They tap send.

“Whoops. My finger slipped.”

_What?!! I only have one suit and it’s just normal and grey,_ he replies, with a worried face emoji at the end.

Dan snickers. Phyl yanks the phone out of their hands.

“Hey!” Dan tries to grab their phone back and nearly takes an elbow to the face as Phyl squirms away from them on the sofa. 

She types out a quick message before tossing the phone back to Dan.

_dan LIES wear what u want_

“I’m sure if we’d given him a minute he’d realize that was bullshit.”

“I'll give _you_ a minute,” Phyl grumbles.

But then she smiles and sighs in relief. Oliver is on board.

\--

AJ and Gwen agree to help after discussing the matter over pizza at Dan and Phyl’s flat.

“Phyl is an honorary member of Jane Club,” AJ says. “Don’t ask me how that works. But I wouldn’t miss it.” Gwen nods in agreement, warm eyes on Phyl.

When they all finish eating, Dan starts to clear away empty plates and pizza boxes, feeling light despite the heavy weight of food in their stomach. 

“Do you think Ruby…” Gwen says, then stops to chew her knuckle. Dan pauses on their way to the kitchen. “Do you think she’d be open to discussing some things with me? About her knowledge and experience. I’m sure there’s just—there must be _so much_ she knows.”

“I’m sure she will!” Phyl says brightly. “At least, she was really open about sharing info with us.”

“We’ll give you her email,” says Dan. 

Gwen lowers her hand and smiles. “That would be great.” 

Sometimes Gwen’s shyness is no match for her thirst for knowledge.

\--

“Of course I’ll—Alice! Get off the table!—Sorry, of course I’m in. I just need to—_Alice._ What do you think you’re doing?”

Phyl’s phone sits on the sofa between her and Dan, Prunella’s voice coming through the speaker clear with fuzzy cracklings from Alice in the background. 

“Thanks, Pru, I really appreciate—”

“One second!” Prunella must put the phone down, because her voice becomes just as distant and unintelligible as her daughter’s. Dan and Phyl exchange a bemused glance.

There’s a bit of clunking and breathing, and then Prunella’s voice returns. “Sorry about that. Alice is furious that she’s not involved in this conversation. And you’re welcome, darling. Any time.”

“You’re gonna have to tell her it’s a grown-ups only event,” says Dan.

“I know. She’s going to be absolutely livid. I already feel bad for my parents.”

Alice’s grandparents always babysit whether Prunella is out for an evening or away for a month. 

“Oh! I’ve been meaning to tell you. I dreamt about you the other night, Phyl. You were sleeping in a boat...a little boat like a canoe, drifting down a river.”

Prunella’s voice doesn’t hint at anything sinister, but the subject of dreams about Phyl still makes Dan uneasy, especially coming from the one other person they know who shares Dan's vaguely prophetic abilities. 

“Was it a normal dream or a special dream?” Phyl asks.

“I’m not sure. But it really made me want to see you.”

\--

Phyl and James wait at the counter for their food while Michael and Dan secure a table. Dan is pleasantly surprised by how not-awkward it is to be hanging out with them again. Especially considering how pissed off Dan was when they first upset Phyl and left Happy Phantoms.

Before he sits, Michael reaches into his messenger bag and pulls out an envelope, which he hands to Dan.

“We were gonna mail this, but what the hell. Have it now.”

The envelope is cream-colored with Dan and Phyl’s names printed in silver in a sleek font. Dan flips it over to find a silver wax seal. They run their thumb over it.

“It’s a lot, I know,” says Michael, sitting across from them.

Confused but curious, Dan carefully pries up the seal and opens the envelope. They slide out a card printed on heavy, matching paper.

_You are Invited to Celebrate the Wedding of_

_Michael Patrick Lyons_   
_and _   
_James Duncan Harris_

_Wedding?_ Dan’s eyes shoot up to Michael as their mouth falls open.

He smirks. “You really didn’t know?”

No, they didn’t. Somehow. Dan tries to scroll quickly through memories of time spent with the men, but they can’t latch onto any obvious evidence they missed. And Phyl never said anything, even though she definitely knew. Dan’s ignorance leaves them terribly flustered.

“I understand,” says Michael. “You only had eyes for Phyl.”

“Were you together the_ whole time?”_

“We were already dating before we joined Happy Phantoms.”

Dan covers their hot face with their hands.

“So, about the wedding…”

They part two fingers to let an eye peek through.

“What do you think?” He gives them a nervous smile. He must be aware that Dan held some animosity toward him and James. They lower their hands.

“Well, I’ll need to confirm with Phyl, but...If you still want us there when this ritual shit is over, we’ll be there.”

\--

A woman in gray sweatpants and a navy blue hoodie separates from the crowd at the airport. Her dark brown hair is pulled back in a messy ponytail, and she looks tired, but when her eyes find Dan and Phyl she perks up and starts walking faster, rolling suitcase rattling behind her.

Dan stays back while Phyl strides forward. The women meet in an embrace.

“I’m sorry I left,” says Anja.

Phyl shakes her head against Anja’s shoulder.

“No,” she says.

Dan steps back farther, out of earshot, and goes over to some chairs. After they sit, they look back and see Phyl and Anja have ended their hug, but hold onto each other’s arms as they talk.

\--

Dan wakes up alone in bed. They’re not sure if there was a sound or a movement that stirred them from slumber, but they were ripped from a dream that now frustratingly fades away to nothing.

They squint in the light of their phone. It’s 4am.

Phyl’s phone is still on her bedside table. She probably got up to pee, but Dan wants to be sure. In this delicate time leading up to the extraction, they feel a need to always know where she is. Dan gets up and leaves the bedroom. 

“Phyl?” they whisper. They creep past the bathroom and kitchen—both empty—and into the lounge. 

The only one there is Anja. She’s asleep on the sofa, lying on her stomach with one arm hanging off the side. 

A pair of Phyl’s shoes are missing from the cubby by the door. Dan tries the handle and finds it unlocked. They slip on a pair of their own shoes and step out into the hall. 

Dan finds her outside, sitting on the front steps of the building. 

“Phyl,” they say quietly, announcing their presence.

“Dan,” Phyl replies, not turning around.

“Can’t sleep?”

“Yeah.”

“Mind if I sit?”

“Go ahead.” 

Dan sits down, close but not touching Phyl. They exist beside each other without speaking for a while. 

No one is walking or driving along the street, and nearly all the windows of the surrounding buildings are dark. A few lights here and there signal other restless souls. Phyl looks out into the night and then down at her lap. She clears her throat.

“I feel like I’m about to lose a part of myself.” She places a hand over her heart. “Something important.”

In the distance, a siren weakly wails. Headlights cut through the darkness as a car drives slowly past. Dan chews on responses in their head. They don’t want to invalidate Phyl’s feelings with hastily chosen words, but they don’t want to encourage her to stray from the chosen path either. 

“I think I know what you mean, even if I don’t understand how it feels. You’ve existed like this for so long. But we have to do it. You know that, right?”

Phyl nods. Dan gazes intently at the side of her face, searching the solemn lines of her mouth and brow. They press their knee against hers, and she finally turns her head.

“But what if I can’t hear them anymore?” she says, eyes wet.

Dan can hear the anguish simmering just below the surface of Phyl’s composure, and it makes a lump rise in their own throat. Hearing ghosts isn’t just a part of Phyl’s job. It’s a major facet of her life. Her _identity._

Dan breathes in deep and out slow, steadying themself. They want Phyl to know that they believe what they’re about to say, and aren’t just saying whatever's necessary to prevent cold feet.

“I don’t think that’s going to happen. Your ability might change some, but I doubt you’ll lose it. Ruby didn’t mention anything like that.”

Phyl turns away again, but her expression is more open now. She tips her head back to look at the sky. 

“The whole thing might not even work,” she says, after a quiet minute. “You know what Ruby said. She’s never extracted a ghost that was inside a person for so long.”

She chases her words with a great yawn, which draws an even bigger one from Dan.

“Can we maybe go back to bed now?” they ask.

Phyl laughs wearily. “That sounds nice. You may have to carry me, though.”

“Alright, princess.”

Dan stands first, extending their arm to help Phyl up. She pulls heavily on it as she stands, then sways beside them.

“Onward,” she says, turning to the front door.

Dan doesn’t have to carry Phyl up the stairs or down the hall, but they walk close behind, ready to catch her if she falls. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! i feel like i've been posting so many short chapters, but the next one should be longer. if that matters lol. and we're closing in on the end...
> 
> [ reblog on tumblr ](https://velvetnautilus.tumblr.com/private/630807902105550848/tumblr_9NOwZ5DyaqqYpymmi)


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter includes a needle and some body horror (not needle related) just fyi. also lets forget i ever said anything about it being longer

Stepping into the breakroom at House of Wheels is like entering an entirely different establishment—one devoid of the rink’s magic and lively atmosphere. Outdated appliances, mismatched folding chairs, and work safety posters peeling off the walls present a rather unimpressive backdrop for an important ritual. A sticky tablecloth is removed from the one table in the room, revealing gouged and graffitied plastic. Dan regards it skeptically, and then casts their eyes up at the faintly flickering overhead light. Was this a good idea after all?

The table appears a bit less depressing once a heavy white quilt has bed spread over it, as well as a pillow at one end. Then again, the stark white is also comparable to hospital beds. Or the lining of caskets. Dan doesn’t share this observation with the rest of the group, or any of their misgivings. This table is where Phyl will lie during the extraction.

“Do you think this is going to hold my weight?” Phyl asks, running a hand over the blemished surface. “It looks like it might collapse if you put too hefty a lunch on top.”

“Riley told me at a party someone jumped up on this and danced wildly for at _ least _ forty-five seconds, and no collapse,” says AJ. “So I wouldn’t worry too much.”

Riley is an employee at House of Wheels, and a friend of AJ’s who agreed to let them use the room overnight. Dan has no idea what AJ told him they were using it for when she asked the favor. But she did admit that money was involved.

Ruby told them that the extraction had to take place somewhere that was “hospitable and familiar, but also neutral.” It couldn’t be held at any of the participants' homes. When AJ suggested the roller rink during a brainstorming session, Dan immediately knew the idea was perfect. House of Wheels isn’t just a physical place to them, it’s a major landmark along the path of their life. It sparked revelations, hosted epiphanies. Within these walls Dan realized they loved Phyl. In this house, the people they encountered set them on a journey to understand their own identity. Dan isn’t sure if it holds quite as deep a meaning for Phyl, but she agreed with enthusiasm.

“We should begin,” says Ruby, standing in the doorway. Nine heads turn to her. “This could take a long time, so there’s no sense in waiting.”

She enters the room carrying a box about the size of a large shoebox, made of light wood with a hinged lid. A broad, heavy padlock guards the opening. Everyone steps aside as Ruby approaches and places the box on the table.

“This is the vessel we’ll be trapping the ghost in. But first we need to add the bait. Have you all brought your tokens?”

Everyone replies yes or nods. Dan’s gaze travels the circle of friends gathered together. AJ, Gwen, Prunella, Oliver, James, Michael, and Anja. They all wear solemn expressions. Everyone is taking this seriously. They’re all here because they’re determined to help Phyl.

Ruby reaches down the front of her shirt and pulls out a key dangling from a cord around her neck. It isn’t cut like any key Dan’s seen before. The blade curves back and forth like a snake, and sharp, irregular projections line both sides. The narrow points gleam, and Dan supposes you could easily draw blood with it, without even having to try.

They hold their breath as Ruby inserts the key in the lock, turning first to the left, then the right, then back again, and shakes it a bit. For a moment, the key seems to be stuck, but then the lock springs open.

Ruby slides the key out and tucks it back into her shirt. She removes the padlock, and everyone moves closer as she lifts the lid.

The inside of the box is unsurprisingly empty. At first Dan thinks the interior has been stained a deep color, but then realizes the wood has actually been burned black. It still retains the smell of ashes.

“We’ll be placing all of your tokens in here,” says Ruby. “Don’t worry, once we’ve released the ghost elsewhere, you can get them back, although I can’t promise they’ll be undamaged.”

Dan’s grip tightens on the object in their pocket. It’s important to them, but they’re willing to let it get damaged or destroyed if it’ll save Phyl. They pull their hand out.

“Dan,” says Ruby, nodding for them to go first.

Dan opens their fist to reveal a little clay bear with round ears and mismatched eyes.

“Phyl gave this to me on our first date,” they say, raising their eyes to meet hers. _ I love you _, they think fiercely, hoping the message gets through. Phyl’s eyes shine, and her lips curl into a smile.

“Good,” says Ruby. “Place it in the box.”

Dan sets the little bear down in the center. As the weight of it leaves their palm, a shiver runs down their spine, and they have to resist the urge to snatch it back. But the feeling passes.

“You next,” Ruby says to Anja, standing on Dan’s right.

Anja reaches into the front pocket of her hoodie and draws out a folded piece of lined paper. a message is written on the front in thick letters formed from repetitive pen strokes.

_ TOP SECRET _

_ DO NOT OPEN!!! _

“Is that—you kept that?” Phyl asks, eyebrows raised.

Anja opens it up delicately. The edges of the page are feathered with wear, and the creases grayed with grime. She smooths it out as best she can on top of the quilt, revealing the secret message within.

_ Anja & Phyl like GIRLS!!! _

“We made this at a sleepover when we were twelve,” Anja explains. “Phyl was the first person I ever told.”

“And you for me,” says Phyl. “I remember I was so scared to tell you, and then you went and said it right before I had the chance.”

Anja folds the paper back up and places it in the box.

They continue around the circle.

Gwen has brought a tiny plastic elephant gifted to her by Phyl. “You said you found it on the underground on your way to our flat and thought of me. I was so surprised because we hadn’t known each other for long, and I couldn’t remember telling you I like elephants,” she says shyly, rolling the elephant back and forth in her hands.

“She also thought it was kind of gross,” AJ adds.

“Shut up,” Gwen snaps. But Phyl laughs, and she smiles.

“I really hope this fits,” says Prunella before she unveils her token.

She pulls a piece of paper from a folder and lays it on the table. It’s just slightly smaller than the dimensions of the bottom of the box. It’s a child’s drawing, crude lines depicting two people sitting on some kind of object…a sofa? With a face? Maybe. The waxy lines shine in some spots from the crayon being pressed down hard, and are almost too faint to see in other areas.

“This is the first drawing my daughter made of Phyl and I together,” she says proudly. “A masterpiece entitled, _ Mummy and Phyl on Horse.” _

“For the record,” says Phyl, “I’ve never been on a horse. With Pru or otherwise.”

“Alice has always had a wonderful imagination.”

Dan, Anja, and Gwen temporarily remove their tokens so that Prunella can lay hers flat on the bottom. The bear is warm in Dan’s hand as if it never left their grasp.

James’s token is the spare key to the Mystery Machine. “Sorry,” he says, “I should’ve given this back to you a long time ago. Once this is over, I will.”

“You’d better,” Phyl says, but her indignation lacks bite.

Anja frowns. “Or give it to me.” The van was hers to begin with after all. Dan doesn’t know her well enough to tell if she’s genuinely annoyed.

“Uh, anyway,” says Michael, “Here’s mine.” He pulls out a crumpled brochure. “It’s a menu for that Japanese restaurant we used to go to when cases wrapped up early. I remember we were all upset when they closed down.”

“We didn’t know until we arrived outside and saw the dark windows,” says Phyl.

AJ goes next, rummaging in her bag and then brandishing a GameCube game case.

“_ Super Monkey Ball 2, _” she says, waving it at Phyl. “Remember when we spent two hours beating a level together?”

“Oh my god, yes. What an epic quest.”

Dan remembers the unbearable frustration of watching Phyl and AJ fail over and over while refusing to let them have a go at it.

“It was only an ‘epic quest’ because you guys suck,” they mutter. They’re ignored.

“And we bonded on that quest,” says AJ. She shrugs. “So that’s my token.”

Last is Oliver, who looks rather defeated as he reveals his token—a piece of white printer paper folded in half once.

“After all of yours, mine is kind of stupid,” he mumbles.

“I’m sure it isn’t,” says Phyl.

“A lot of us brought pieces of paper,” adds Prunella.

Oliver frowns and unfolds the paper. “It’s just a print-out of an email you sent me. The one where you said I could join you and Dan officially on a case. The paper isn’t special at all. It’s just the words.”

“That’s a perfectly acceptable token,” says Ruby, gesturing for him to add it to the box. You had to make the words tangible somehow, and you found a good way to do that.”

The affirmation from an expert uplifts Oliver, and his shoulders relax. He folds the paper back up, smoothing the sharp crease with his fingertips, and lays it in the box with the other tokens.

“Alright, Phyl. Now for your contribution. Come over to the sink with me.”

Ruby picks up the box and Phyl follows her. Dan keeps a sharp eye on them. They both wash their hands, then Ruby puts on gloves. She wipes the tip of Phyl’s left index finger with an alcohol wipe and then opens up a package containing a very thin, sterilized piercing needle.

“This probably seems like overkill to prick a finger,” she says. “And it probably is. But I participated in an extraction once where someone ended up with a nasty infection, and I’m not going to let that happen here. Okay, Phyl. Hold out your hand.”

The anticipation before experiencing any kind of pain bothers Phyl more than the pain itself, so Dan’s not surprised to see her grimace and look away. Ruby sinks the needle a few millimeters into the pad of her finger and then slowly pulls it out. She takes the fingertip and squeezes about six or seven drops of blood into the box.

“That should be enough.”

When Phyl’s finger has been cleaned and bandaged, everyone gathers together around the table again.

“The point of all of this,” says Ruby, “is to lure the ghost into a place that reminds it of Phyl. We fill the box with symbolic objects and a part of her physical body to steer the ghost in the right direction.”

They move on to the next steps. With a few steadying hands, Phyl gets up on the table. Before she lies down, Ruby retrieves a thermos from the fridge and hands it to her.

“You need to drink this.”

“What is it?” she asks, unscrewing the lid. She sniffs and wrinkles her nose. “That is…unpleasant.”

“It’ll put you to sleep. Or more accurately, into a trance state that will allow us to carry out the extraction without harming you.”

“Okay, but what the hell is it?” asks Dan.

Ruby looks at Phyl. “You might not drink it if I told you. But if you try to remain conscious for this, it could put all of us in danger.”

Phyl plugs her nose and downs the mystery drink. She gags and sticks out her tongue, shaking her head back and forth. Gwen brings her a glass of water from the sink. She’s only taken a few sips of it when her eyelids start to droop.

“Lie down now.”

Phyl lies back on the pillow, arms at her sides. Her breathing slows.

“Is she asleep already?” asks AJ. “I should take that for my insomnia.”

Next, they set up several lamps around the room, before turning off the overhead lights. The soft, amber lights are like paralyzed flames, and they transform the space. The darkness beyond the circle of light stretches out, enlarging the room, while within it Dan gets a sense of focused intimacy. The world outside of this ritual doesn’t matter right now. There’s only Phyl, the ghost, and the nine people who’ve gathered to help her.

Ruby places the open box underneath the table, then arranges the group in a specific order around it. She stands behind Phyl’s head. Moving clockwise, beside her is Dan, then Oliver, AJ, Michael, James, Prunella, and Anja. She directs everyone to join hands.

“Don’t let go during the extraction. No matter what. Hold on to each other until I tell you to stop. The ghost may try to scare you. You may see frightening things. But remember that it’s only happening because it desperately wants to stay inside Phyl. Don’t try to run.”

Oliver’s hand tenses briefly in Dan’s.

“Alright.” Ruby takes a deep breath. “You can close your eyes if you’d like or keep them open. Let’s begin.”

Dan keeps their eyes open, watching Phyl’s peaceful face. Beside her, Ruby is speaking words they don’t understand in a slow, deep voice. The indecipherable quality makes them fade into white noise.

The room gradually gets hotter, not to an uncomfortable degree, but enough to make Dan lose some of their concentration. They’re still holding onto Ruby and Oliver’s hands as instructed, but it doesn’t feel like a conscious action. Dan lets their eyes drift from Phyl and sees that the room is darker. They can no longer see the lights, or anyone standing around the table. Their arms fade into blackness where they are joined with the others. They look down and their own body disappears as well. Only Phyl remains illuminated.

Fear starts to swirl in Dan’s stomach. They’re standing on a cliff, about to slip off the edge into a nightmare. They close their eyes, but they can still see Phyl. They open and close their eyes again and again, and there’s no change. They start to wonder if they can really be sure whether their eyes are open or not.

Phyl’s breathing quickens. Her stomach rises and falls rapidly, but her face remains impassive. Something is stirring inside her, beneath the surface. Dan can almost see it. A bubbling, growing thing…

Pale branches emerge from Phyl’s abdomen, creeping bit by bit. They move in jerky, angular patterns, snapping and creaking as they ascend upward out of her body. Sweat beads on Dan’s invisible skin, and their mouth is dry.

The branches grow past the top of Dan’s head before they realize they aren’t really tree branches at all. They’re arms. Arms with too many elbows, bending back and forth in grotesque lines. Dan can see the bluish hue of veins beneath the stretching skin, contracting and expanding. They tip their head back and watch as hands burst from the tips of the arms, crooked fingers sprouting like blossoms to scratch along the ceiling.

Dan can’t feel their own hands. They can only hope that they haven’t let go and broken the circle. The phantom fingers split and divide into more fingers that lengthen and spread out overhead. Then the elbows bend and the arms are lowered, the dozens of fingertips dancing in the air.

The arms begin to retract into Phyl’s body. Dan holds their breath as a hand passes in front of their face. Each of its nine fingers has a perfect little fingernail.

As the arms descend, Dan rises. They’re floating up above the table, looking down. They can see the tops of everyone’s heads now, including their own, bent over Phyl. Is anyone else seeing what they see? Are they experiencing the same thing?

The arms stop. Hands frozen halfway between Phyl’s body and Dan against the ceiling. Dan is numb from the neck down, where their pulse pounds in their throat.

The fingers start to move again. Their joints crack and click. Phyl’s eyes fly open, blank white. A second later one of the arms shoots up into the air toward Dan. A hand wraps around their throat and everything bursts into light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading!
> 
> [ reblog on tumblr ](https://velvetnautilus.tumblr.com/private/632267568711974912/tumblr_ugmJXCqk5TRXHAq47)


	28. Chapter 28

The first thing Dan becomes aware of is the leaves. They rise up small, green, and vibrant in walls to their left and right, ending at least a meter overhead. They turn and see a similar wall behind them, and up ahead they see another, the distance blurring the leaves into more of a textured screen. The sky above is pure white. It’s either a ceiling or a complete cloud cover. Or some kind of blizzard, but the air isn’t cold. If it is a solid barrier, there’s no telling how far away it is. 

The last thing Dan remembers is being in the House of Wheels breakroom with mutant fingers wrapping around their throat. Now they appear to be in some kind of hedge maze, possibly hosted in a white void. They take a few steps forward, and the ground squishes somewhat unpleasantly beneath their feet. The grass is waterlogged and sucks at their shoes, but at least it doesn’t penetrate through to their socks.  
  
If there’s a wall behind Dan, then they must be at a dead end, which would imply they came from the direction in front of them, but since they have no memory of that, it’s more likely they were just plunked down here in the middle of the maze, with no regard to the rules of entrance and exit. No…this isn’t a _real_ maze. It’s some kind of dream or vision. It doesn’t matter how they got here.  
  
There’s really only one direction to go. They start walking toward the wall ahead. Individual leaves begin to rise out of the green blur as they close the distance. Before they reach the wall, they hit an intersection with paths branching out to the left and the right. The left-hand path seems to continue on straight for a while. The wall is so far that it might as well be painted flat green. To the right, there’s another right turn only a few strides in. They choose that path, if only because they can’t tell if the left path has more routes off of it or if it’s a long walk to another dead end.  
  
The right path leads Dan into a zigzag. There are no choices. They just move forward, turning left and right and back again as they follow the snaking trail. They’re getting anxious; they just want to be out of this maze now. They need to get back to Phyl and the extraction. They look down at their empty hands and hope that outside of this dream they’re still attached to Ruby and Oliver.  
  
The ground gets softer and wetter, making it strenuous to move forward. Every step threatens to throw Dan off balance as they sink into the earth and then pull themself back up again. They look down at the ground for the first time in a while, and as their left foot sinks in, what bubbles up doesn’t look like water. It’s dark like mud, red like rust or clay. They pull their foot out and the liquid that washed over the tops of their white shoes has left a bright stain. Blood stain. Dan hesitates to put their foot back down, and that’s when they stumble.  
  
Dan catches themself with one hand on the hedge, and that’s when they make another chilling discovery. The wall is closer. Their hand hits it much sooner than it would have when they began. The maze is narrowing, and they don't know if it happened suddenly or gradually. The leaves are surprisingly sharp leaves against their palm.  
  
Soon their feet sink so deep that they can’t lift them, and just have to push their legs forward through the muck. At least the constant turns abate, so they don't have to change direction. The walls keep getting closer, but how they're being moved is unclear. There's no dramatic vanishing point up ahead, and the lines appear perfectly straight. But Dan also can’t detect any movement at their sides, as if the walls were physically shifting closer.  
  
Dan slides into the earth almost up to their knees, and moving becomes too exhausting. They should turn back to where it was wider and the ground was firmer. Just retrace their steps to the first intersection and go the other way. They grab onto the hedge walls for leverage and slowly turn themselves around, breathing heavily.  
  
There’s a wall right behind them.  
  
Dan’s feet sink further into the ground. Their chest heaves, and their eyes dart from leaf to leaf. At first glance they appear dormant, but then they start to move, pulsing back and forth toward Dan and then away. It’s like the hedge is breathing in time with their own laboring lungs. They swallow and try to slow their pace, and the hedge follows suit. The leaves beneath Dan's hands at their sides warm under their touch. The maze is alive. Not the way a structure made out of plants should be, but like some kind of animal.  
  
At first Dan is wildly afraid, struck by a numbing panic that leaves their mind as void as the sky above. Then their head droops down, and they see the blood lapping at their knees. A switch flips. _I’m hurting it._  
  
They’re an intruder, stomping through the insides of this creature. Hands scraping scales off the walls, feet sinking further into flesh. Dan closes their eyes tight as their muscles tense. They don’t want to hurt anything. They just want to get out.  
  
Someone is crying. No, not someone. An animal. It’s a confused whimper, the sound of a creature that knows it’s being harmed but has no theories as to why. It makes Dan's heart ache. They don’t want to cause pain, but they don’t know how to stop. They’re in so deep. There’s no turning back.  
  
Dan’s legs tremble and they fall forward. Palms press into wet fur. Maybe if they stop moving, they can stop further damage. It’s not real, they remind themself. The dream will jump to something else soon, just as it jumped from the breakroom.  
  
Their body starts to descend into the ground, thighs disappearing, arms gone up to the elbows. They look up and the sky has darkened, though the light within the maze has not. Maybe they're being pulled deeper into it, or maybe they’re being expelled. Dan desperately hopes for the latter, for their sake and the maze’s. They hold their breath as their head goes below the surface.  
  
Dan floats in space, body touching nothing. Darkness with no boundaries surrounds them, and the air is so cold. Teeth chatter, rattling their skull. Brain clinks around inside their head like ice in a glass. Fingers are numb, then nothing. Their body becomes irrelevant, but the cold persists. It's absolute. Something like loneliness accompanies it. Like losing form and shape is akin to losing companions. All alone without a body. A home.  
  
A siren cuts through the silence, and Dan's frozen brain blows up hot. The distress call overwhelms everything; there’s no darkness or light, not even pain. There’s just noise that Dan must be a witness to.  
  
Then something hits Dan on the back of the head, and they open their eyes to find themselves standing up. It takes a minute to regain balance and settle in their body. They blink, confused. They’re standing in a long corridor without doors or windows. It stretches too far to see anything at its end. Dan doesn’t look behind them this time. They just start walking.  
  
The only sound is their footsteps. Dan is calm now. This place isn’t like the maze. It's simple and inorganic. Just a straight path to a destination. The dark opening at its end grows larger as Dan approaches, so they know they’re actually getting somewhere. Excitement—not fear—quickens Dan's feet until they’re running. They sprint toward the darkness that fills their field of vision and pass through to the outside.  
  
They stand at the beginning of a carnival midway. It's night. A cool breeze caresses Dan and gently ruffles their hair. The path is lined with stalls, but there are no people tending them. There’s no one moving about the grounds, no patrons or employees at the rides. The only thing alive is the ferris wheel at the end, a slowly rotating circle of rainbow lights.  
  
Dan smiles wider as they approach. The lights burn bright and welcoming, an unbroken embrace for them to step inside. They walk up the steps to the platform and wait as a pod with a familiar silhouette in the window descends. When the wheel slows almost to a stop, Dan opens the door and hops in, sliding onto the bench beside Phyl.  
  
“Hi, Dan,” she says, sporting a smile wide enough to rival theirs.  
  
Dan examines Phyl with a close eye. They know every sharp angle and soft curve of her body and every unique facet of her face. She certainly looks like the real deal.  
  
“Nice of you to show up in my dream,” they say. “It’s been pretty shit up till now.”  
  
“Your dream? If anyone’s in anyone’s dream, you’re in mine. I’ve been waiting here for so long. Do you know how boring it is to ride a ferris wheel by yourself for _hours?_  
  
Dan rolls their eyes, their smile only sagging a bit because it’s becoming painful to maintain. “So, then you knew I was coming?”  
  
“I knew someone was coming,” she says, looking thoughtful. “And that I needed to wait for them.” She grabs Dan's hand. “I’m glad it ended up being you.”  
  
Dan blushes like they haven't flirted with Phyl a thousand times before, haven’t shared endless intimate moments. The world outside the window is empty.  
  
“If we’re both real—like our actual selves—then is this even a dream? What’s happening in the breakroom? Are we even there?” they muse.  
  
“I don’t think we’ve been teleported to a ferris wheel right now, if that’s what you’re asking.”  
  
“I know _that_,” Dan scoffs. “I just meant…you’re supposed to be lying down unconscious, and I’m supposed to be standing in a circle holding hands,” they look down at where their hand rests in Phyl’s, “but instead we’re sitting next to each other talking.”  
  
They have a fleeting desire to tell Phyl about their journey here—the hands, the hedge maze. But they think of the way the maze cried and decide she doesn't need to know.   
  
“If you want, we could do something besides talk,” Phyl says. She moves in close, one hand rising to the side of Dan's neck.  
  
Dan’s eyes flicker to Phyl’s mouth and then back up to her eyes, pupils big and black. Their heart flutters. “Something like…?”  
  
“I’ll give you a second to read my mind,” Phyl whispers, and then she kisses Dan.  
  
Light floods the pod and Dan hears singing. A choir of inhumanly beautiful voices, rising and falling and filling them up with warmth. Dan can’t see Phyl, but they can feel her—her hands, her lips, her breath. They’re floating in the air with her.  
  
Everything is amazing, and then warmth turns to heat bordering on unbearable, and Dan loses track of Phyl. The singing becomes screaming. Their tongue burns and their throat shreds. Lungs and stomach melt away and if this keeps up Dan knows even their bones will crumble to ash.  
  
Their abdominal muscles contract and they heave. A dam breaks in the depths of their body and water surges forth in a great blast, extinguishing the flames.  
  
It’s dark. Someone is saying their name.  
  
_Dan?_  
  
Dan is exhausted and sore. They need to find somewhere more comfortable to sleep.  
  
“Dan?”  
  
They open their eyes to the ceiling of the breakroom. The lights are back on. A blurry face blocks their view and then swims into focus. Dan blinks. It’s AJ. They’re lying on the floor with their head in her lap.  
  
“Hey there, champ,” she says, with a soft smile.  
  
“What happened?” Dan croaks, voice scraping their dry throat. “Is it over?”  
  
“Yes, the extraction is complete,” says another voice. Dan turns their head to see Ruby standing in front of the table. Several of the others are gathered there, all looking at Dan, their expressions a mix of concern and relief. Phyl is not among them.  
  
Dan sits up so quickly their head almost collides with AJ’s face, but she leans back in time.  
  
“Whoa, slow down,” she says, putting a hand on Dan's shoulder as they try to push themselves up off the floor.  
  
_“Where’s Phyl?”_  
  
“Right here.”  
  
Dan looks behind AJ. Phyl is sitting in a chair by the door. Prunella adjusts a blanket around her shoulders. In her lap she holds the wooden box, now closed with its padlock firmly in place. Everyone else in the room fades away.  
  
“You’re okay?”  
  
“Yeah,” says Phyl, looking down at the box and running a hand over the lid. “Ghost free.”  
  
Dan covers their face with their hands and lets reality settle over them. It’s over. It’s done. All that’s left is for Ruby to release the ghost somewhere far away. Phyl is safe.  
  
They lower their hands and look around the room at all the faces smiling at them. Why is everyone’s attention gathered on Dan rather than Phyl? And why are they on the floor?  
  
“Wait, what _did_ happen?” they ask. “I…saw some weird shit and then it ended?”  
  
Dan clearly remembers everything they experienced, but they have no idea what really occurred in the room.  
  
“You absorbed the ghost,” says Ruby, looking a bit mystified. Dan stares, mouth open. “Which was emphatically not part of the plan. I was having trouble getting the ghost to respond at all, and then two hours in you just leaned over Phyl and it transferred.”  
  
“It was crazy,” says Oliver. “Ruby and I had to force you under the table to expel it into the box. I banged my head.” He rubs the back of his skull.  
  
“I didn’t know I was doing that,” Dan says slowly. “I was—I was somewhere else. Mentally.” 

They try to catch Phyl’s eye, but she’s looking down at the box again.

“Well, just make sure you never do it again,” Ruby says with a wry smile.  
  
“I’m not like Phyl. I have restraint,” Dan replies, quiet enough so only Ruby and AJ can hear. Ruby gives a tired smile and AJ mutters, “Rude.”  
  
Dan is tired down to their bones. Everyone except them, Phyl, and Ruby seems to have plenty of energy though. Some of them are making plans to get food together, but Dan has no interest in that. They stand up and shuffle toward Phyl. Prunella squeezes her shoulder and walks away, leaving them alone.  
  
“Want to go home?” Dan asks.  
  
“Yeah,” she says. “…I just have to give the ghost to Ruby.”  
  
Ruby appears beside them as if summoned.  
  
“Are you ready?” she asks.  
  
Phyl bites her lip and looks down at the box. She takes a deep breath and nods.  
  
“Yes. I’m ready.” She holds out the box and Ruby takes it, holding it carefully.  
  
“I think the place I’m taking it to will make it very happy.”  
  
Dan and Phyl won’t be there when the ghost is released; Ruby won’t even tell them where. It’s for the best.  
  
“I’ll email you about returning all the tokens, alright? Take care of yourself.” She looks at Dan. “Both of you.”  
  
They both thank her. The words don’t fully capture the depth of Dan’s gratitude. Later they’ll find a way to express it better. Phyl just looks mildly dazed, and her eyes keep returning to the box. Then it’s time to say goodbye to the others. AJ has managed to convince everyone else to go eat, except Ruby and Prunella (who needs to pick up Alice), even though it’s well into the night, and besides Gwen they’ve all just met her for the first time.  
  
Dan arranges for a car to pick them up, because even taking the tube seems like too much effort. It’ll be a race to see which one of them falls asleep first when they get home.  
  
“Shit,” Phyl says, when they step outside, her voice full of awe. “It’s really over. Like, it’s really, really over.”  
  
Dan grins and throws an arm around her shoulder. “It really is.”  
  
“Wow.”  
  
They tumble into the backseat and struggle with their seatbelts, giggling at their shared clumsiness. Once they settle, the driver confirms their destination, and they’re off.  
  
The driver doesn’t chat at all, either by nature or because he can tell how tired they are. Phyl lets her heavy head fall on Dan’s shoulder. They look out the window, focusing on all the lights they pass to try and stay awake. Street lights, headlights, traffic lights, windows. All guiding them home.  
  
“Next time,” Phyl mumbles.  
  
“What?” Dan whispers.  
  
“Next time we ride a ferris wheel, it’ll really be just the two of us. No ghosts.”  
  
“You _do_ remember.”  
  
Phyl lifts her head to smile at Dan, eyes barely open. “Yeah, of course.” She lays her head back down.  
  
Dan closes their eyes. It's fine if they fall asleep for a little while. The driver will just have to wake them when they’re home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! next chapter is the end :0 it'll have more of an epilogue kind of vibe to it compared to the other chapters i think...well, you'll see. thank you thankly
> 
> [ reblog on tumblr ](https://velvetnautilus.tumblr.com/private/633084347409481728/tumblr_wfeghEHVuJ59ksAEl)


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s done! :O
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who read, left kudos, commented, and/or liked and reblogged on tumblr. I know people say it’s most important to write for yourself, but without any engagement I doubt I would have continued to post this. extra thanks to those of you who have been so supportive all along the way, and of course to Leah who is a wonderful beta and person and has helped me with this series from the very first fic.
> 
> To anyone reading this in the future and not as a wip, HELLO I appreciate you just as much!
> 
> Ok time for THE END

  
_One year later_

  
Ever since the extraction, Dan has been able to hear the ghosts. Happy Phantoms took their first case about four months after it, and when Dan walked through the doors of the haunted primary school they’d been summoned to a sound like laughter heard from underwater met their ears. They froze in the doorway, blocking Phyl and Oliver’s path, and their backpack slid off their shoulder and hit the floor.

With the ability to hear the ghosts came the skills to better determine their locations. Dan doubts they’ll ever possess Phyl’s knack for figuring out a ghost’s motivations and needs, but being able to say, “Hey, I heard singing in the basement” is exciting.

Amusingly, they now find themselves in a flat at the building where Phyl and them lived together for the first time, before moving to a new one when the six month lease expired. They’ve pin-pointed the ghost’s location to a rather imposing, ornately carved wardrobe in the bedroom. It looks like the kind of fixture you’d expect to conceal a ghost—much more than refrigerators, trash bins, salad spinners, and other hiding spots Dan's observed.

They have the ghost cornered. Oliver stands before the wardrobe.

Phyl delicately pulls on her gloves. They were custom created for her by a woman Gwen met online who specializes in “ghost positive” garments. They’re made of red silk regularly soaked in rainwater. Every time it rains Phyl lays them out of the balcony of their new flat, then lets them air dry inside. The gloves are lined with white silk rubbed with beeswax and the ashes of her own burnt hair clippings. This layer is worn down whenever she wears the gloves, but every haircut helps repair it.

She stands behind the buggy and lifts her arms, open palms on either side of the raised lid. Her eyes are blue and bright and full of life.

Oliver reaches over his shoulder to unbuckle the straps that keep a coiled rope in place. The rope is made up of a variety of carefully selected fibers that he and Dan processed and twisted together by hand. The whole ordeal took many, many hours, in part because they could only work on it in the middle of the night. They crafted it over the course of several weeks spent at Oliver and Rita's house. They sat out in the back garden, only the moon and a light shining through a window there to guide their hands. Phyl was always with them, and Rita often joined them as well. They would talk quietly together or sit in companionable silence.

The rope is a little over two meters long, and about the thickness of a carrot. In the center, the strands briefly part to wrap around the stone from Oliver’s old wand.

Oliver holds one end of the rope, his left fist near the edge, while Dan takes the other. They don’t hold it by the very end, but instead about an arm’s length in, the rest hanging down to the floor.

“Alright, showtime,” says Dan. They stand midway between Oliver at the wardrobe and Phyl by the buggy. 

Phyl counts them down. “Three…two…one!”

With his right hand Oliver flings open the wardrobe door, then quickly places the back of that hand against his fist. The sensation of the ghost hitting his palm before jumping to the rope varies—a static shock, a splash of water, a mild burning, a tickle. 

The rope vibrates in Dan's hand as the ghost runs through it. When it reaches the stone it glows briefly, a soft white halo that only Dan can see. None of them know exactly why that is, but compared to their old unique ability, Dan quite likes this one. The rope heats up. They start running their hand down the length of it toward themself, feeling the energy chase their movement. They let the end of the rope drop from their hand and twist it like they’re throwing a ball behind them. It’s like a game. Oliver passes the ghost to Dan, then they throw it to Phyl. But contrary to her clumsiness with physical objects, Phyl always catches the ghost. Her open hands beckon it the rest of the way.

When the ghost enters the buggy Phyl flips her hands over and slams down the lid from behind.

It doesn’t always go so smoothly. But when it does, Dan experiences an amazing rush. It’s so much more satisfying than any of the ghost hunts of the past, when Phyl was still absorbing them. In this way they function as a team—three equal members determining the ghost’s location and nature, devising the best plan to lure and trap it, and then putting that plan into action. They’ve experimented with different tools and methods to varying degrees of success and failure. The current system works pretty well, but they’re all open to change. In the ghost removal business, you always have to be willing to adapt. 

“Go team!” Phyl whoops, hands dancing like red birds. “We’re the best!” 

Oliver cheers while Dan shakes their head and laughs.

Phyl removes her gloves slowly, pulling on each fingertip to slide them off her hands. In her backpack is a little case made of metal mesh lined with cotton. Phyl likes to say she’s “putting them to bed” whenever she tucks them inside. Dan thinks that’s a bit creepy, but whatever makes her happy.

Phyl was afraid the extraction would rob her of her power, but if anything, it seems to have improved it. She’s not sure if it’s actually been amplified, or if it’s just that being relieved of the weight of carrying a ghost has cleared the fog. But she’s experiencing a clarity she hasn’t since she was a child newly awakened to her abilities. 

“I’m starving,” says Dan, as their stomach growls in confirmation. “Let’s get this in the van and go.”

“I want cake,” says Phyl, slipping the glove case back into her bag. “Can you get cake delivered?”

“It’s past midnight,” says Oliver, coiling the rope back up.

“Irrelevant,” says Dan. “We’ll find a way.”

  
Sometimes Dan works themself up thinking about ghostly what-if scenarios. What if they hadn’t been able to hear the distress call and sought the answers that led to Phyl’s habitation being discovered before it was too late? What if they never got in contact with Ruby? What if the extraction failed? Or Phyl refused to go through with it? What if they weren’t able to find seven wonderful people to help them?

But the one that hits the hardest late at night when Dan’s eyes are burning at the fire of a computer screen, and Phyl is asleep in their bedroom down the hall is _What if my flat was never haunted and so I never contacted Happy Phantoms and met Phyl? _

If they wanted to probe even deeper to the very root of this timeline, Dan supposes _What if ghosts aren't real?_ is actually the best starting point. 

But ghosts are real. And that unbelievable truth has somehow led Dan to an immense happiness. 

\--

_The ghost is alone. This place is small and cold. No familiar pulse to swaddle it. No heartbeat of home. The ghost doesn’t think but it feels. It feels the blunt trauma of estrangement, the knife-edge of loneliness. Loss. _

_It can’t move in this place. It’s compressed down to the smallest it can be. The friction of all its essence rubbing together burns._

_Suddenly: space._

_So wide and vast. More space than the ghost has experienced in years. It’s bewildering. The ghost stretches out as far as it can in all directions. _

_Oh. There are others. Humming, vibrating, singing. Everywhere. They surround the ghost, draw it into their embrace._

_They seem to say: we’ve been waiting for you._

_They ask: do you want to join us?_

_The ghost is already forgetting what the old body felt like. As much as it loved that place, there were so many constant intrusions. Invaders trying to drag it out. It held on as long as it could and screamed with all its might, but all that fades away. Those memories are locked up in a little box and burned to ash._

_The old ghosts welcome the new ghost into them. They all flow together in a harmony of energy. One but many. Separate but the same._

_And everything is light and music. And everything is safe and whole. And everything is good._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!! :) I would be happy to discuss anything or answer any questions about this fic here or on tumblr.
> 
> [ reblog on tumblr ](https://velvetnautilus.tumblr.com/private/633495461548998656/tumblr_7JmMHMU6KTcTQb0Xc)


End file.
